


Delivery

by SoManyJacks



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull - Freeform, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Disorder, Binge Drinking, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, I watch too much chopped, Lots of Food, M/M, Modern AU, PTSD, Smut, Tumblr Prompt, canon typical abuse - past, canon typical imprisonment, don't worry Bull's got this, even moar anxiety, fantasies of group sex, gratuitous interior design, gratuitous texting, implied slutshaming, lots of booze too, mention of alcohol abuse, mention of bareback sex, mention of conversion therapy, mention of group sex, ok a little angst, poor self-esteem, puns, self-care, smoking mention, so many puns, triggered anxiety, unhealthy view of consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2018-06-03 08:21:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 88,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6603643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoManyJacks/pseuds/SoManyJacks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Trashbien's idea:<br/>Adoribull AU where Dorian orders a pizza and adds a message “Send your cutest delivery boy.” And of course Bull stands in front of his door. Dorian checking in his mind if he accidentally typed “biggest guy who can bend me over the table and have his way with my body” instead. He orders a lot pizza from now on. For... research.</p><p>Started out as a one-shot, but it's turning into a fic about three of my favorite things: good food, good music, and Adoribull.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cheese Please

Somehow Sunday brunch had gotten a little out of hand.

Dorian realized this when it was eight o’clock in the evening and Sera was cracking into yet another bottle of wine. His house was showing signs of prolonged merrymaking - the kitchen alone was an absolute disaster. He refused to even think about it. There were simply some things that were not thought about after a long day of continuous drinking.

It had started with mimosas, and then moved to bloody marys, and then somehow wine had become involved. Dozens of people had come and gone over the course of the day, and despite the destruction of his kitchen in the process, he was feeling quite mellow and accomplished.

Sera stayed late, of course, and Hawke hadn’t left yet either. The two of them sat on Dorian's couch, somehow managing to make a game of We Love Katamari into a bloodsport. Dagna lounged on the floor by Sera’s knee, while Isabela slouched in the recliner.

Idly, Dorian picked through the remains of the feast on his dining room table. It was a wasteland. “Who ate all the hummus?”

“This one!” Sera yelled, though it wasn’t clear if she meant herself or Hawke.

“Ooh, food. Food’s good,” Isabela lurched to her feet. “Food’s gone,” she pouted once she reached the table.

“Order a pizza.” Hawke’s eyes remained trained on the game. He flailed his controller around, as if it would make the ball on the screen move differently. A moment later he crowed in triumph, jumping to his feet. “Champion!”

Sera scowled and tugged his shirt tail, causing him to topple backwards to the couch.

Dorian hummed with laughter. “Pizza is a terrible idea. I’ll have no part of it.”

Isabela snorted. “You’ve been eating tortilla chips nonstop.”

“Exactly.” Dorian nodded, helping himself to just a touch more wine. “Though, perhaps something more solid in my stomach would be a good idea.”

Dagna had her phone out. “Where do you normally order from?”

Dorian laughed. “My dear, do I look like the type of person to order pizza on a regular basis?” He gestured vaguely at his physique.

“Only because you’ve no one to share it with,” Sera pointed out.

Dorian's gesture turned into something rather more rude. “It’s not that. Cheese and I simply do not get along well, that's all.”

“Ooh, get it from Bull’s. Mmm, the owner is absolutely delicious.” Isabela snickered.

“Hey!” Hawke protested lazily. After a moment he seemed to change his mind. “Okay, yeah, he is.”

Sera was whispering something into Dagna’s ear as the she dialed the phone. The less Dorian knew about it, the better. He headed to the bathroom to powder his nose.

He should have known something was up by the way they all seemed to be holding in giggles when he returned. “What. What. Is there something on my face?” Dorian patted his moustache.

“Nothing, love. You look smashing.” Isabela purred.

“Smashed more like,” Sera said. Dagna had taken Hawke’s place and was crashing her digital bits into Sera’s digital bits.

“I’m not smashed,” Dorian said, sinking to the settee with leonine grace. “See?”

As owner of the house, Dorian was elected to answer the door. The election was a brief affair, with the others literally throwing money at him. Grumbling, he gathered the bills and made his way to the foyer.

He pulled the door open. Though it wasn’t his habit to order delivery, it wasn’t a foreign concept; he went to college, after all. It’s not like this was any different. There should have been a bored young person in an ill-fitting hat and cheap jacket, clutching the pizza in both hands and wondering how big their tip was going to be and whether it would be enough to get a six pack on the way home.

So this was all wrong. The delivery man was absolutely enormous, for one. And he wasn’t young either - he looked to be at least 35. He had an eyepatch - an _eyepatch,_ for fuck’s sake. The man leaned against the porch railing, one arm up, the muscles in his arms and chest fairly screaming for attention under his tank top. The pizza boxes looked comically small in his hand. When the door opened, the man lifted his gaze without raising his head. “You order a pizza?” The voice was deep and rich and rumbled straight into Dorian's crotch.

From behind Dorian, the sound of laughter screeched down the corridor. The delivery man took a step closer, tilting his head to see around the now-frozen Dorian. “Ah. I gotcha.” He gave an upnod and a saucy grin to the people formerly known as Dorian's friends.

Dorian spluttered, completely confused. He held the money out almost at arm’s length.

The man took it, still giving him a lopsided grin. “Need change?”

Dorian shook his head. “It’s all big - good. There. All there,” he stuttered.

The sound of laughing intensified.

The man handed him the pizza boxes but didn’t move away. “Nice.”

“Yes,” Dorian gulped. “I mean. Thank you.”

“Thank _you.”_ The man’s good eye twitched in a wink.

Dorian watched as he walked down the front path. Only then did he happen to glance at the receipt hanging out of the top box. Under ‘special instructions’ the words: SEND YOUR CUTEST DELIVERY BOY stood out in red ink. Dorian wheeled around. Once inside, he slammed the door, his faculties returning. “I hate each and every one of you.”

It took quite a while for the laughing to truly stop, and by then Dorian had helped himself to an indulgent second slice and was willing to forgive the whole thing.

“So Bull came out himself, did he? I’ve never seen him make deliveries before,” Isabela mused. “Though I usually go into the shop. I like to keep things personal.”

“Hey!” Hawke protested automatically and without any fervor whatsoever, reaching for his fourth slice. The two were about as poly as it was possible to get, so the joke was by this point a matter of habit.

Dagna regarded her crust. “This is really really good. You think it’s a wood-fired oven? I hear some guys are still using coal.”

“All I know is more for my face,” Sera said, grabbing the crust from her girlfriend’s hand and cramming it into her own mouth. Dagna looked momentarily discomfited but then Sera produced her own piece of uneaten crust and handed it over.

Dorian had long ago stopped trying to figure out the dynamics of their relationship and merely shook his head. “All right. That's enough. Cabs for you lot. Out! Out!” He shooed his guests, ignoring their groans of protest.

The following weekend was completely free of planned social activity, a rarity in Dorian's life and one he quite welcomed. Not that he didn’t enjoy his friends. But he was also an introvert by nature. Having an entire weekend to himself was like finding a $50 bill in the pocket of an old coat.

Friday evening was spent cooking an exquisitely complicated dinner, which he enjoyed with a half bottle of equally stunning wine. Saturday morning was devoted to chores, while the afternoon went to a walk downtown for a bit of window shopping, and then home, where he absolutely did not marathon an entire season of the Venture Brothers while eating cereal in his pajamas.

By Sunday evening, he was growing restless. He texted around, but everyone was already busy. It occurred to him he hadn’t actually spoken to a human since lunch on Friday. He could call Felix back home, but the time difference meant he’d surely be asleep by now.

Dorian's stomach rumbled. His leftovers were long since gone. He should go to the store. Absolutely. He should put on shoes, get in his car, and go to the store and buy healthy, responsible food, bring it home, and eat it. Dorian told himself all this quite firmly even as he looked up the number for Bull’s Pizza and dialed it.

It wasn’t until the phone picked up on the other end that he realized he hadn’t even glanced at the menu.

“Bull’s Pizza, is this for pickup or delivery?” There was no denying it was the same voice as the hulking giant who’d delivered the pizza last week.

“Uh, yes, delivery please.” Dorian squeaked. _Vishante kaffas, man, pull yourself together. It’s just a damn pizza._ Dorian closed his eyes and wiped his face with his free hand.

“What can I get you?”

 _I’ll take you with a side of you and don’t skimp on the you._ “Ah... just a small cheese, please.”

“One cheese please coming up. Where’s it going?”

Dorian gave the address.

There was a pause on the line. Somehow, the voice on the other end got deeper. “Any special instructions?”

 _Sweet Andraste do not say anything you shouldn’t even be ordering pizza at all._ “Ah... no. Just. Um.” Dorian cleared his throat.

Bull (it must be Bull, it _must_ be) laughed. The sound was somehow reassuring while managing to send a spike of excitement down Dorian's spine. “Alright then. Be about a half hour.”

Dorian spent twenty-nine minutes pacing. Why the hell had he called for a pizza? Now he was going to be embarrassed and, in a short amount of time, probably bloated as well. He didn’t even particularly like pizza.

When the bell rang, he jumped, lunging at the door knob. At the last second he stopped and forced himself to take a breath before pulling the door open. It wasn’t going to be Bull making the delivery anyway. According to Isabela he was the owner. Last week was surely a fluke -- probably the normal delivery person had gotten sick.

Dorian's stomach flipped over when, once again, Bull loomed large on his front porch. This time he leaned on the door frame, and he was already grinning. “Hey there.” He peered down the hallway. “No friends this time?”

Dorian suddenly had a pang of doubt. Did people order pizzas by themselves? Probably not. Certainly he never had. Great, now he looked like a glutton. “Ah, no. Not this time.”

“Mmmm,” Bull nodded. It looked like he was having trouble containing his amusement. “That’ll be thirteen-fifty.”

Automatically, Dorian reached for his back pocket. Except his wallet wasn’t there, because he was in sweatpants. Maker, he’d forgotten to bring the damn money to the door. “Apologies, I’ll just -” Dorian pointed over his shoulder.

“Sure.” Bull smiled wider.

Dorian hadn’t intended the gesture to indicate he wanted Bull to come in, but in retrospect it could easily have been interpreted that way. So when Bull pushed himself off the doorframe and followed Dorian inside, he kicked himself mentally. _Ugh, why didn’t you remember the money you great fool. This is worse than terrible porn._

“Nice place.”

“What?” Dorian yanked his mind out of his internal monologue as he fumbled with his wallet.

Bull looked around casually before letting his gaze land on Dorian. “Seems a little lonely, though.”

Despite buzzing with pent-up embarrassment and a fair amount of lust, there were certain things that simply couldn’t be borne, terrible pick-up lines being chief among them. Dorian snorted. “Does that ever work?”

“First time for everything,” Bull grinned. He took the money Dorian handed him. “This all big good there?”

Dorian gave a resigned sigh. “You’re lucky your pizza is good.”

“Oh, everything about me is good.”

This time Dorian flat-out groaned, rolling his eyes. Still, it was a better place to be than stammering like a fourteen year old. And Bull smiled at him, a real, full smile, and that was an even better place. So much so that Dorian managed to not make a further fool of himself as he walked Bull to the front door.

The following Sunday, Dorian had purposefully made plans to go to a craft and food festival. There was no way he’d get so desperate for human interaction as to order pizza from Bull’s again. Even if his ego could take the hit, there was no way he could force himself to eat another slice of pizza. It had taken him all week to finish the last one. If that was a small, he shuddered to think of what Bull considered ‘large’.

Instead he wandered the festival, drifting among his friends. There was something about a carnival at night. He usually couldn’t stand them during the day, but at night, with all the lights and the people, it was almost magical.

He walked arm-in-arm with Isabela, her other arm occupied by an enormous stuffed bear that Hawke had won in one of those “feats of strength” games involving a large hammer. Then he’d gone off to climb aboard a very rickety ride which had a neon dragon on the side, convincing Sera to come along.

Isabela sighed happily. “This is nice.”

“It is rather.” Dorian had to agree.

They rounded the corner to where the food stalls were located. “I’m starving,” Isabela declared. “Come on.” She dragged him past booth after booth until finally getting in a very long queue.

Dorian was pretty hungry himself, to the point where he’d be happy eating anything. That is, until he caught sight of where they stood. “Oh no. Isabela,” he chided her.

“What?” She was a picture of false innocence. “I’m hungry,” she whined.

Dorian gave her a blank stare, then shifted his gaze pointedly to the sign hanging overhead. A sign with a large Bull on it. “Pizza? Really? Don’t you want something more _exotic?”_

She winked and clucked her tongue. “Not today.”

The line shifted forward. Dorian could hear Bull’s voice rumbling from ahead. “I think I’ll just go find something else,” he said.

The line parted in front of them. “But we’re already at the front,” Isabela pointed out. “Two slices and two cokes.”

Bull looked up at the sound of her voice. “Bela!”

“Bull!”

“How you been? Oh, look, you’re with Big-Good-There. No Hawke tonight?” Bull crouched over the counter, letting his eye rake over Dorian as he tried to decide if they were together or _together._

“He’s here somewhere,” Isabela waved vaguely. “Riding the dragon, I’m sure.”

“Dragon’s good. You want a real ride, though, you gotta ride the Bull.” He looked at Dorian when he said it.

Dorian groaned, taking the slice Bull slid across the counter.

Isabela reached for her purse, but Bull waved her off. “On the house. Hawke and Carver keep me in business, after all.”

“Don’t I know it,” Isabela rolled her eyes. “Good to see you, Bull.”

“Same. Have a good night, Big-Good-There. See you next Sunday, maybe.”

Dorian huffed in frustration as he pulled Isabela to a nearby picnic table.

“What was that all about?” she laughed, folding her slice in half.

“Ugh, I wasn’t thinking and ordered a pizza last week. It was tremendously awkward. I forgot the money, he had to come in, and now he probably thinks I’ve seen one too many terrible adult films.” Dorian regarded his pizza. Tentatively, he took a bite and set it back down. He definitely did not want to finish the slice, even as hungry as he was.

“Well haven’t you?” Isabela cooed.

“Colby Keller is a gift from god and no one can convince me otherwise,” Dorian snapped. “That’s rather beside the point.”

“Mm, he is something. Did I ever tell you my friend Zev slept with him?”

“Really?” Dorian gasped. “You most certainly have not but I insist you tell me right away.” Dorian leaned forward, eager for every word.

The story was long and comically salacious. Isabela finished her meal and rose, still detailing every last jot and tittle, as it were, of the tale.

Dorian followed suit, absently tossing the pizza into the trash, completely absorbed in the story.

All in all it was a fun evening. Dorian had managed to forget about the pizza maker altogether by Wednesday, until he got a text from Isabela. _hawke got takeout. guess who asked about u_

_Carver? ;)_

_ugh no dont be an ass BULL_

_Please don’t tell me you encouraged him._

_did no such thing but you could i bet. at least the do part_

_I’m not going to dignify that with a response._

And he didn’t. Dorian did, however, spend a little extra time before bed thinking about just how huge Bull’s hands were. How huge all of him was. He also may have thought about it the next morning in the shower, during lunch at work the next day, and also the next few nights, including one impossibly hot dream.

By Sunday, Dorian was incredibly distracted. Not that he had anything against having a casual bit of fun, but this was different, not like a random club pickup or heat-of-the-moment thing. He didn’t even have the man’s number, only the number to the shop. Sure, the man had flirted but it seemed so uncouth for Dorian to keep contacting him while he was working.

Not to mention the fact that Dorian had eaten more pizza in the last two weeks than the previous year.

Still, if Bull had asked about Dorian.... Well there was nothing for it. He called the number.

After four rings, the phone picked up. “Well if it isn’t Big-There-Good. How’s it going?”

Dorian winced, then fought back a wave of nerves from realizing Bull recognized the number, then shook it off. _Of course he recognizes the number, you ass, it’s in the system from ordering so much damn pizza._ “Ah, it’s Dorian, actually.”

“Yeah, I know. Hawke told me.”

“Oh. Er.”

“So, what can I do for you?”

Dorian swallowed hard; this was not the conversation he’d been expecting to have. “Ah - I was going to order a pizza?”

There was a pause. Dorian heard as Bull covered the phone with his hand and said something to one of the employees. After a moment the background noise dipped significantly, as if Bull had moved into an office or storage room. “Look, Dorian. You don’t have to keep ordering pizza. I saw you throw yours out at the fair.”

“What? No - I like it! I just wasn’t hungry.”

“I saw you eat two corndogs, big guy.” There was a fair amount of laughter in the accusation.

“They were not corndogs, they were tempura-fried artisanal venison sausage,” Dorian huffed. The snort on the other end told him Bull wasn’t impressed. “Anyway, you’re the one admitting you were watching me eat. Where do you get off doing such a thing?”

Another pause. “You wanna know where I get off watching you take two big sausages?”

“Kaffas,” Dorian swore over the booming laughter coming from his phone. “Look, are you going to bring me pizza or not? I’m starving.”

“Oh, yeah, I can bring you something to eat,” Bull snickered.

Dorian narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You’d better be talking about food.”

“Hey, what kind of a guy you take me for?”

“Do you really expect me to answer that?”

Bull laughed again. “I’ll be there a little after nine.”

“Nine!” Dorian whined, too hungry to care how pathetic it sounded.

“It’s the soonest I can get out of here.”

Dorian blinked in surprise. _He’s not just dropping food off, you moron._ “Oh. Oh. Right. Well then. I’ll just have a snack, then.”

Bull laughed. “Do whatever you gotta, but don’t get too full. Kinda want you to be a _little_ hungry. See you, big guy.”

“Er, yes. See you.” Dorian stood there a long time, holding his phone in his hand, wondering what he’d gotten himself into. As long as it wasn’t another pizza, he’d be fine with that.


	2. Not So Special

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull fumbles the play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have more of the pizza AU no one asked for! Also, apparently we're switching POV back and forth, because I love making things more difficult for myself.

It took Bull a little longer to get out of the shop than he’d hoped. Fucking late Sunday rush. He’d already sent Rocky home for the night, so when a huge order came in at 8:30, he had to stay and help Krem put it together. Who the fuck orders five dozen wings and four subs that late on a Sunday? It wasn’t even football season. 

Before he started in on the fryers, he popped out the back door. The restaurant around the block adjoined the same alley. He stuck his head in the kitchen. “Hey, Lavellan, you busy?” 

The diminutive chef owner was picking cilantro leaves. She was the only one on the line, while the dishwasher sprayed out some pots. The chef nodded. “Oh, yes, can’t you tell? Totally in the weeds.”

Across the line, the head waitress was putting cups of green tea on a tray. “Are we? I thought you said I could go home early?”

Lavellan heaved a sigh, squeezing her eyes shut. “No, Merrill, it’s fine. I was kidding. You can go once your campers de-camp.”

“Oh, that's fine then,” Merrill smiled. “They’ll go after this tea. I made it too strong.” 

The chef winced and gave Bull a tight smile. “You need something?”

“Yeah, a miracle. Was hoping to get some tonight but I’m gonna be late. Any chance you could whip up something that’ll put me back in good graces?”

Lavellan snorted. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Love you,” Bull winked.

“Get the fuck out of my kitchen,” Lavellan groused, sliding a wok on to the burner.

After a damn lifetime, Bull was finally done with the wings. “You good, Krem?” He was already pulling his apron over his head.

“Jesus, Chief, you got a bug up your ass or what?”

Bull grinned. “Got a date. Cute lil’ ‘Vint. Think he wants the Delivery Man Special.”

“Ugh. I swear you are the only person who opened a pizza shop to get laid.” Krem shook his head.

“Well it was either that or pool cleaner. And I hate the smell of chlorine. See you Tuesday.” 

Lavellan presented Bull with a overfull bag of to-go containers at the back door. “Hope you like it spicy.”

Bull knew better than to ask what she’d made for him. Probably something thrown together from whatever was ready on the line. Which is to say off the menu and probably fucking delicious. “You know it. I owe you one.”

She made a face and waved him off. “Yeah, whatever. I’m keeping a tally of how many times my food gets you laid, ya know.”

“Hey, the food’s their prize for having such excellent taste in me.” 

It was 9:30 when Bull pulled up to Dorian's house. It was a cute place, a little bungalow in a tidy neighborhood. Didn’t get a lot of orders out here, but the ones that did were good tippers. 

This wasn’t Bull’s first rodeo, not by a long shot. Usually, though, he’d be showing up with pizza. Most of the time - okay, every time so far - the pizza got very, very cold. Sometimes he’d get to share a slice or two, after, when Bull and whoever were fucked out and starving. Sometimes he wouldn’t even stay for that.

Though - shit - how long had it been since he’d pulled a Delivery Man? On the way over he tried to remember the date of the last one, and realized it had been almost a year.  _ Huh. Getting old, I guess. _ Not that he wasn’t getting laid on a regular basis. But it was mostly fuckbuddies, people he knew. 

It wasn’t so much that he craved variety as it was, well... shit, just admit it, it was laziness. Relationships took effort. And his life was pretty fucking full, thank you very much. The shop alone kept him balls to the wall, and he had Krem and his boys, as much of a family as he’d ever had. Still, maybe it was just him getting soft, but the idea of waking up with someone was starting to sound pretty nice. 

Time to think of that later. For now, he had a delivery to make.

Bull’s first surprise of the night was that Dorian was waiting for him on the porch. That already threw Bull off a little. There was a ritual to the thing - ring the doorbell, let ‘em answer, and then go through the “you sure you want this” bit. But that was all out the window now. Dorian was perched on one of those wicker couches people put outside, reading a book. He looked up as Bull pulled up to the curb.

“You’re lucky you’re not actually delivering a pizza. I’d have called the owner by now,” he drawled, marking his place in the book with a tasseled bookmark. 

Bull laughed, as much at the fact that Dorian had fucking tasseled bookmarks as at the joke. “You don’t want to mess with that guy,” Bull warned. “I hear he’s huge.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow, still curled up on the couch. “That remains to be seen,” he noted pointedly. With that he uncoiled himself from the couch and rose. 

“Seriously, though. Sorry,” Bull apologized. “Got hit with a late order.”

“Well seeing as I’m too hungry to protest, and whatever is in those bags smells delicious, I’m inclined to forgive you.” He pushed the door open and beckoned Bull inside. 

This time Bull actually looked around. It was a nice place. Had that shabby-tasteful thing going on. Lots of mismatched antiques. There was a whole wall in the living room devoted to vinyl and CDs, the shelves groaning with recordings.

“So what did you bring?” Dorian asked. 

Guess we’re eating after all. Not that Bull minded in this case. The smell of the takeout on the drive over had him starving for more than sex. He held up the bags. “It’s from Lavellan’s.” Bull said. 

“Oooh, I love that place,” Dorian said, his face lighting up. “What would you like to drink? Normally I’d try to impress you with my wine pairing abilities but I’m thinking beer might be a better choice.”

Bull set the bag down on the table. “Do I not look like a wine guy?”

Dorian smiled. Bull caught it out of the corner of his eye and did a double-take. He hadn’t seen the smile yet. Jesus fucking Christ, the man was gorgeous. 

Dorian laughed a bit. “I was thinking more that it would tame the heat. Of the food,” he explained.

“Oh. Yeah, you’re probably right.” Bull hastily recovered from the impact of that smile, matching it with one of his own.

Dorian had retreated to the kitchen and came back a moment later with plates and cutlery, as well as a couple bottles of imported lager. “Well. You unpack and I’ll get some music. Any preference?” He plugged a tablet into the jack and looked up expectantly.

Bull wasn’t an idiot. No one had that much vinyl without being a music snob. And the fact that they were eating meant this was veering into  _ date _ territory. Usually there was no point in trying to impress; Bull’s body did that for him. But somehow he found himself caring what Dorian thought, or at least enough to catch that smile again. “You got any Bill Evans on there?” He nodded at the tablet.

Dorian's eyes widened and that smile came back, spreading slow across his face. “I think that can be arranged. It’ll have to be Pandora though. Most of my jazz needs the turntable.”

“A purist. I like it,” Bull smirked. 

Making his way over to the table, Dorian acknowledged the point with a tilt of his head. “About some things, yes.”

They sat and surveyed the feast Lavellan had made. There was some sort of glass noodle dish with crispy ground meat and cilantro, a fried rice that made Bull’s eye water just smelling it, and green papaya salad. 

Dorian almost cooed with delight and immediately served himself some of the noodles. “If this tastes half as good as it looks, I’m afraid I may never order a pizza again. I didn’t know Lavellan’s did take-out.”

“You’ll order pizza again. I’m a charming guy,” Bull said, heaping a bit of everything onto his plate.

Dorian glanced at him. “Apparently so, since you managed to talk your way into all this, when I was only hoping to say hello, maybe try to get your number.” He frowned at his food, as if suddenly realizing what he’d gotten into.

Bull’s gut dropped about two feet. Shit, he hadn’t really thought about it that way. He was so used to playing this game that he hadn’t really stopped to see if Dorian was playing along. Part of the thrill of the whole bit was how illicit it seemed for the other person. Bull loved being able to give that to someone, be a part of that fantasy. Because he was never exactly a stranger; it’s not like he could disappear off the face of the earth - he owned a pizza shop. If people really wanted to find him again, they could. Most didn’t. 

Still, Dorian was right. Damn, maybe he was getting old. Been a long time since he’d misread a signal so badly. Time to redirect. “So. How do you know Isabela?”

“I met her through Hawke. I teach at the community college, and he signed up for one of my classes.” He scooped a bit of the rice to his plate.

“Oh? What do you teach?”

“Music,” Dorian replied. “And I conduct the band, such as it is. It’s open to members of the community. Hawke showed up with a battered trumpet out of the blue. I honestly think he was only there to find people to sleep with.” 

Bull raised his eyebrows. “Hawke plays the trumpet?”

“Well he holds it up to his mouth and blows,” Dorian said.

Bull spluttered his beer, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “That good?”

“He’s not  _ that  _ bad,” Dorian admitted, rolling his eyes. “But he definitely spent more time eyefucking the conductor than practicing.”

Snorting with laughter, Bull cleared his throat. “I’m starting to get the picture.”

“I’ll have you know I don’t sleep with my students,” Dorian sniffed. 

Bull nodded. “Remind me not to sign up for any of your classes.” 

Dorian's eyes narrowed as he smirked. 

_ Damn, those lips should be outlawed. _ Bull ripped his attention back up to Dorian's eyes and thought maybe those should be illegal too. 

“Do you play, then?” Dorian sipped his beer.

“Piccolo,” Bull said, pulling out his best stoneface. He allowed a tiny smile when Dorian's eyes immediately shot down to Bull’s enormous hands.

After catching the grin, Dorian attempted a scowl, but it slipped into a smile soon enough. “Is this what I’m in for, then? Terrible jokes?”

“Don’t forget the good food,” Bull pointed out.

“No fear.” Dorian took a forkful of rice. “So do you really play?”

Bull shrugged. “I did. A bit. Ages ago. Percussion. Timpani, mostly.”

Dorian raised his eyebrows. “Really? I’m impressed. You must have a good ear.”

“Didn’t I already tell you everything about me is good?”

Dorian groaned at the revival of the awful joke. 

Bull took mercy on him. “So, what are you playing this semester?”

This time, the look on Dorian's face was a challenge. “A transcription of Danzon number 2, Marquez. Blue Shades, Ticheli. Molly on the Shore, Grainger.”

“You must have one hell of a clarinetist up your sleeve,” Bull noted.

It was clear by Dorian's grin that Bull had passed the test. “I do, in fact,” Dorian admitted. “An ethereal waif named Cole. A prodigy, truly. He pulls emotion from the instrument that I’ve scarcely heard before.”

“Sounds like a good program. Makes me miss playing.”

“I must say, you’re exhibiting a very detailed knowledge of wind ensemble literature for someone who played a bit, ages ago.” Dorian seemed suspicious.

Bull tilted his head. “I was pretty good, way back. Went to college for it, actually. Tried out for Army band after I graduated, didn’t make it. Didn’t have a backup plan, and they talked me into OCS. Active duty a long time, till....” Bull tapped his eyepatch.

Dorian's face cycled through skepticism to understanding to sympathy. “I... see. Well. That's... an interesting journey. And how do you know Isabela?” 

“Oh, that. We worked together. After I was discharged, I decided to ease up on the stress.” Bull winked. When Dorian looked confused, Bull explained. “We both worked for the same agency.”

Dorian's mouth fell open. “You were a... dancer?”

Bull appreciated that he didn’t just blurt out  _ stripper _ like everyone else. “That a problem?”

The Tevinter’s mouth closed with an audible ‘clop’. “Not at all.”

“Good.” Bull nodded. “It was good while it lasted. Easy money, and a lot of it. Made enough to open the shop, took a bunch of the dancers and army buddies with me. Worked out real well.”

Dorian still had that wide-eyed look of someone currently imagining Bull taking his clothes off. Bull just smiled wider, leaning back in his chair, waiting for Dorian to realize he was staring.

With a jerk, the Tevinter yanked his gaze back to his plate. “Well. That's... hmm. Very interesting.” He pushed the food around with his fork. His jaw was working and there was a crease between his eyebrows, like he was starting to have second thoughts again.

“How’s the rice?” Bull asked, trying to get a better read.

“Excellent.” Dorian replied immediately, and with a smile that was so well-practiced that it nearly fooled Bull. “I only wish I knew what it was called, so I could order it next time.”

Bull grinned, trying to put the man at ease. “Can’t help you. I think Lavellan just threw it together. She’s good like that.”

Dorian took a swig of beer, though whether it was to temper the heat of the food or cover the awkwardness of the moment, it was hard to say. “So what happens now?” He leaned back in his chair.

Bull could sense the nervousness that Dorian was trying to keep in check. The evening was hanging on a thread; it was clear Dorian was getting restless, that this was out of his comfort zone. Automatically, Bull made a joke, trying to make it clear this was a little weird for Bull too. “Got me. Usually, this kind of a delivery, the food comes second.” Bull hadn’t even finished saying it before he realized he fucked up. Big time. 

Dorian's face closed down. “Oh, I see. Well.” He took the napkin and rubbed his fingers with it. “Didn’t realize I was off-script.”

Wincing, Bull shook his head.  _ Fuck, you fucking asshole. Way to make the guy feel special.  _ “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Just - this is different for me, too.”

“Let me guess. Food comes after the fucking? All part of the service?” Dorian sighed. He seemed more sad than angry.

Bull was caught, and he knew it. Shit, he hadn’t bungled a hookup this bad in a long, long time. “Damn. Maybe I should go before I find some way to make this worse.” A part of him hoped Dorian would ask him to stay anyway.

From the was Dorian was frowning at his plate, it didn’t seem likely. “Perhaps that would be for the best.”

Bull started to tidy up the table, but Dorian waved him off. “I’ll get that, don’t worry yourself.” There was a false lightness to his tone, an automatic politeness that wrenched at Bull’s gut. 

“Yeah, ok,” Bull said, pushing himself back from the table. He bit back the urge to continue apologizing and instead tried desperately to think of any way to salvage at least a little of the evening. Not for himself; he was resigned to going home and spending the night alone. But it was obvious that something he’d said had struck a nerve for Dorian. And yeah, Bull just met the guy, but that didn’t mean he wanted him to stew in his own juices for the rest of the night.

It didn’t seem to matter, though, because Dorian had the situation in hand. A few feet before they reached the door, he spoke. “Well this certainly has been an interesting evening. Thank you for the food and the company.” 

It was quite clearly his standard “end-to-a-bad-date” speech, and Bull winced again. “No problem. Good to meet you,” he managed. 

Dorian gave him an utterly joyless smile and nodded. “You as well. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

“Sure thing.” Bull nodded and gave a little smile, because what else could he do, and made his way to the car. By the time he’d gotten in, Dorian's door was closed and the porch light turned off. “Fuck,” he groaned to himself, resting his head on the steering wheel. “You fucking asshole. Way to play it.” After another moment of castigating himself, Bull put the key in the ignition and drove off. 

***

Dorian closed the door, locked it, and flipped off the lights. For a long moment he just stood there, his hand on the switch. “You Maker-damned idiot,” he whispered. He sighed. Talking to himself wasn’t going to help much. Just because he wasn’t saying the words aloud didn’t mean they weren’t ringing through his mind. 

_ ‘All part of the service’. Why did you say that? You could be having sex right now, if you hadn’t opened your damned mouth. If you hadn’t been so fucking presumptuous as to think you were -  _

“Special. Why do you  _ ever _ think you’re special?” Dorian sighed again. He went back into the dining room and cleaned up the dishes, piling them in the sink. He was tempted to leave them for tomorrow, but the last thing he’d want to deal with in the morning was yet another reminder that his love life was comedic at best. So he scrubbed the plates, washing and drying them, putting them in the cabinet. The leftovers he threw away, then dragged the trash out to the curb, erasing every bit of evidence, just like he did after every disappointment. 

At least this was just one meal. Probably for the best he hadn’t slept with Bull anyway. It would’ve come out eventually, the knowledge that Dorian was just one in an apparently long line of conquests, that it was meaningless. Better now than later. He didn’t fancy changing the sheets and doing laundry in the middle of the night, knowing that the alternative would be to sleep with the scent of Bull surrounding him. 

Once the home was back to normal, Dorian surveyed the liquor cabinet. He was almost tempted to open a bottle of Aggregio, but he wasn’t willing to completely sink into self-pity with the taste of his homeland. Plus it needed time to breathe, and he wasn’t willing to wait. He pulled down the scotch and allowed himself a generous pour. 

If only he hadn’t gotten his hopes up. For Maker’s sake, he’d only been expecting a night of meaningless sex to begin with. But then they started talking, and Bull was so damned interesting. How could he not get at least a little excited? 

By the time he was finished with his drink, Dorian had managed to blame Bull for the whole mess. If he hadn’t been so intriguing, none of this would have happened. Ergo, it was his fault. Somehow, this made Dorian feel a little... well, if not better, at least less sorry for himself. 

He rinsed the glass and put it away. It was late enough that he could go to bed without feeling pathetic. Dorian began to run through the next day’s agenda in his mind, prepping the coffee machine for the morning. He grabbed his phone on the way to his bedroom. There were two texts from an unfamiliar number.

Dorian's stomach dropped. He tapped the notification, almost afraid of what he would see. 

_ Hey, you probably think I’m an asshole now, and you’re absolutely right. If you ever forget that I’m an asshole, hit your head or whatever, here’s my number. I’ll still be an asshole, but maybe next time I’ll be the kind of asshole who you’ll want to see again, maybe let me actually buy you dinner. _

_ this is Bull, btw _

Dorian stared at the screen so long it timed out. He swiped it back to life. The little spark of hope flared up in his stomach. He replied to the text, his fingers trembling just a little. Only because the night had gotten chilly, though. No other reason.

_ How did you get my number? _

The reply came less than a minute later.  _ Went back into work and got it off the computer.  _

“Of course, you moron,” Dorian muttered to himself. Still, that was an awful lot of trouble to go through to apologize. If Bull really just wanted sex, surely someone like him would have a stable of willing volunteers. Certainly there was no need to go through all this effort. Dorian decided to count it as a good sign. He set the phone down and brushed his teeth, buying time to consider his reply. Once he’d settled into bed, he texted back.  _ I’d hate to see what you could do if you used your pizza powers for evil.  _

His phone buzzed a few seconds later.  _ Time machine, clearly. I mean, come on. ;) _

Dorian grinned. Another good sign.  _ Good to know. If you decide to follow through on your evil scheme, might I be allowed to borrow it? If I hadn’t behaved like a privileged snot earlier, perhaps my night would be going a little differently right now. _

_ No deal. I need it. Met this fantastic guy tonight - talented, funny, hot as fuck. I made him feel like he was just another rando. Need to go back and undo that.  _

Dorian stared at the text a long time. Warmth was starting to creep from his stomach into his chest, out to the tips of his fingers.  _ Is that so? Perhaps you should ask him to dinner. A bit easier than time travel. ;) _

There was a pause, and then the phone rang. Dorian was so startled he dropped it, scrambling in the blanket to retrieve the device. “Hello?”

“Hi Dorian. It’s Bull. Would you like to go to dinner tomorrow?”

Dorian laughed. “You don’t waste any time, do you?”

“No. Also - it’s my only night off until next week. Restaurant business, you know.” 

“Ah. Of course. Yes, that sounds wonderful.” Dorian could feel that he was smiling too much, but he couldn’t be bothered to care.

“Great. I’ll pick you up. 6:30?”

“That works.”

“Good. I’ll see you then.”

Dorian laughed. “I suppose you will. Have a good night, Bull.”

“You too.”

Dorian terminated the call. Maybe the day wasn’t a total disaster after all. A moment later his phone buzzed. 

_ Hey that hot guy said he’d go to dinner. Thanks for the tip. I owe you one. _

Dorian burst out laughing.  _ I’d say you owe me a drink but I’m afraid things might get a little recursive _

The reply came back quite fast.  _ You’ve got an impressive vocabulary for someone who’s already forgotten what an asshole I am. Not sure I’ve ever heard anyone use ‘recursive’ in convo. _

Dorian grinned.  _ I’m full of surprises.  _

_ Nice. I’ll let you get back to your regularly-scheduled evening program.  _

_ have a good night _

_ You too _

After a moment, Dorian scrolled back up and read the exchange again. He shook his head. “This is absolutely insane.” Leaning over, he turned off the light on his bedside table, then watched the play of moonlight through the leaves of the tree outside his window. He hadn’t felt this good in a long time. For now, he savored the excitement and anticipation. Even if tomorrow turned out to be another disaster, today had been rescued. His last thought before drifting off was that he wished he’d kept the leftovers. The salad had been delicious. He fell asleep with a smile on his face for the first time in years.  
  



	3. The Winter Palace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull takes Dorian on an honest-to-goodness date.

In general terms, Mondays were low-stress for Dorian. This was entirely his doing; one of the perks of having something close to tenure was flexibility in scheduling. Mondays on a college campus were an odd mix of the very frantic and the very hungover, and Dorian had no desire to teach either. Aside from a few private lessons, Dorian's day was spent in ‘office hours’, a laughable concept in his case, seeing as he only taught three classes, two of which were pass/fail. The idea was to have a day to catch up on grading, to practice, and for score study.

That was the idea, anyway. Today there were two students waiting for him in the hallway outside his office. One was holding a trombone, the other had his arm in a cast from wrist to shoulder.

“I’m afraid to ask,” Dorian sighed, unlocking his door. He was already running late; unexpected problems were the last thing he needed. “Kyle, what the hell did you do to your arm? Please don’t tell me it has to do with those atrocious boardslides I saw you attempting last week on the railing out front.”

“Uhhhh....” Kyle searched the expanses of his mind for a way to answer the question. “Yeah.”

“Never mind. I assume you’re here to tell me you’re withdrawing from band for the semester?” Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah. Uh.”

Dorian shook his head and held out his hand for the other boy's trombone. He tugged on the mouthpiece; it was stuck, as he suspected. “Kyle, honestly. You’re literally killing me. I only have two percussionists as it is. Trust me, being a musician will get you laid a lot more than kickflips.”

“Uh. Yeah.” Kyle hung his head.

“Fine.” Dorian shoved the trombone back and took the papers Kyle handed him, signing the bottom. “You’d better be back next year.” He gave a hard look at his now-former student. “It’s not every day I get to teach someone with your talent.”

“Yeah?”

“That’s right. Mostly I get people like Evan here, who can’t stop jamming their mouthpieces when they get nervous.” Dorian narrowed his eyes at the other boy. “Didn’t you learn not to do this in elementary school?” He rifled through a drawer in his desk and found a mouthpiece puller.

“Yes, Professor Pavus,” Evan moped as Kyle beat a hasty exit.

Dorian fit the tool on to the instrument. Once Kyle was out of earshot, he softened his gaze a little. “Who was it this time? Cayla again?”

Evan slumped and nodded.

The mouthpiece popped free of the lead pipe. Dorian handed the instrument and the mouthpiece back. “Just ask her out, already. Text or snapchat or whatever it is you young people do. Trust me, she likes you just fine. And for god’s sake, keep your hands off your horn when she’s around. We all get nervous, but good lord, Evan. Channel it into something other than smacking your ‘bone. Ugh, look what you’ve made me say. I could be arrested. Get the hell out of here,” Dorian shooed the kid out, his tone more affectionate than his words.

Dorian glanced at the clock. He’d hoped to have time to get a cup of coffee before Cole showed up for his lesson. There was no way he’d get to the cafe and back in ten minutes. The morning had been chaos from the moment he opened his eyes.

He’d overslept. He was so keyed up the night before, he’d forgotten to set the alarm. Then there were a series of minor mishaps, the kind that snowball into a comedy of errors. Shampoo in his eyes, a blender explosion as he made his smoothie, then he was out of coffee -- the gamut, really.

Well, he’d survived a morning or two without coffee before. And Cole’s lessons weren’t terribly taxing. The young man was somewhat trying to talk to, it was true, but his playing was heavenly.

As if on cue, Cole was suddenly hovering in the doorway. He was holding a to-go cup, his clarinet case tucked into the messenger bag over his shoulder. “I brought you coffee.” He shoved the cup towards Dorian.

Dorian blinked. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Cole. I was just thinking I’d like a cup of coffee.”

“I know,” Cole said, sitting woodenly in the chair and pulling out his case.

“Er, did you?”

“I saw you get out of your car. Rushed and running, back and forth. You didn’t have your cup.” As usual, Cole’s gaze was somewhere just shy of Dorian's eyes.

“Oh. Well, I’m glad you have such good vision.” Dorian sipped the coffee. Venedhis, it was exactly what he needed.

“You theem dithrent,” Cole said around a mouthful of reed.

“It’s been a very difficult morning,” Dorian admitted. “Shall we start with the Brahms or the etudes today?”

“But you don’t seem annoyed. You seem happy.” Cole slid the reed into place, tightening the ligature. “It’s good. Let’s play the Brahms first.”

Dorian nodded absently. The young man was far too perceptive. It was eerie. Related to his talent, no doubt.

The lesson progressed normally. As always, Cole had a way with the instrument. He was a prodigy, much like Dorian had been. Dorian was lucky the boy had chosen to begin his college career at the two-year school. Dorian suspected the decision to spend a few years locally had much to do with Varric Tethras, the author who seemed to act as the boy’s guardian. Cole would be able to make it in any audition - he could be at one of the most prestigious conservatories in the world. But there was more to conservatory life than playing, a lesson that Dorian had learned the hard way. Cole was still a bit too naive to make it far in that life. It was cutthroat.

“You’re frowning,” Cole said. “Was it the phrasing? I like to stretch it a bit there.”

Dorian roused himself. “Apologies. No, your phrasing is fine. A bit unconventional, but it’s good to shake things up now and then. Brahms can get so unbelievably stodgy.”

“Can we play the duets now? I practiced.”

Despite himself, Dorian smiled. “I suppose. But only because you brought me coffee.”

The rest of the workday managed to pass without incident. Indeed, Dorian started to brim over with a kind of buzzing anticipation. It got stronger as the afternoon went on. Usually he was worn out by 5:00, but today he had a spring in his step as he got in his car. He felt... kaffas, he felt _good._ Too good to even fall prey to the constant stream of negative self-talk chattering in the background of his mind: _Don’t get your hopes up. Be ready for disappointment. It’s just dinner, don’t get so excited._

There was nowhere for these thoughts to roost, however, so they flapped away. Dorian hummed as he unlocked the front door, almost dancing his way to the shower. Plenty of time to clean up and shave, so he had a good solid hour to obsess over what to wear.

It would help to know where they were going, Dorian realized. He dashed off a text to Bull. _Don’t want you to ruin the surprise for tonight, but a little help for the dress code would be appreciated._

His phone buzzed about three minutes later. _I like a man who appreciates a little mystery. jacket or tie: pick one_

Dorian smirked. Not only did he appreciate a little mystery, he also appreciated the subtlety of Bull’s instruction. Fanning his hands along the shirts hanging in the closet, he picked a pearl-grey shirt, then topped it with a simple black tie and a charcoal vest, tailored close to the body. And of course the jeans he’d been wearing that time Hawke had stared at his ass so hard he tripped and fell.

He sent Bull a close-cropped selfie: just his neck and shoulder, jawline and a tease of his lips. _how’s this?_

The reply was almost instantaneous and consisted of a single word: _damn_

_glad you approve. See you soon._

Dorian slid the phone into his pocket. He still had a little over a half hour before Bull was due to arrive. Pursing his lips, he considered his bed. If Bull was picking him up, Bull would be dropping him off, assuming things didn’t go so poorly that Dorian had to catch a cab home. Wouldn’t be the first time.

Despite the misfire last evening, the conversation had been good - fantastic, even - so Dorian didn’t consider it likely that he’d have to flee the scene. Which meant, at some point, he’d have to decide whether to invite Bull in. Things had moved so quickly yesterday that he hadn’t thought to change the sheets. Of course, doing so now was tantamount to admitting he was _planning_ on having sex, not merely accepting sex if it were offered.

“Overthinking it, Pavus. As usual,” Dorian sighed to himself. He whipped the blankets off and stripped the bed.

Bull was exactly on time, pulling in front of Dorian's house right at 6:30. Dorian was just grabbing a cardigan when the doorbell rang. It was something of a surprise - he’d intended to go out to meet Bull, not make the man come fetch him.

Pulling the door open, Dorian was faced with a second surprise: a bouquet of flowers. Nothing extravagant - a dozen pale pink tulips, but tasteful and not sporting a price tag from a grocery store. He spluttered for a moment, leaving Bull on the doorstep.

“Not allergic, I hope,” Bull grinned.

“Apparently only to my manners,” Dorian said, shaking off his shock. “What a lovely gesture.”

“I clean up good, or so they tell me,” Bull shrugged.

Taking the flowers, Dorian gave Bull a once-over. “You do, rather.” The man was poured into his shirt, the broadcloth just shy of straining over his biceps, the sleeves rolled up to show off his forearms. Everything about him seemed to ooze sex. Not in a gratuitous way; Bull didn’t seem to be showing off or playing himself up. It was more that he was simply constructed, flesh and bone, out of confidence. And nothing, in Dorian's estimation, was sexier than that. Dorian left off ogling and gestured for Bull to come in. “I’ll just put these in water, and we can go.”

Bull stepped over the threshold. “No rush. Reservation’s for seven. Hope you like Orlesian.”

Dorian nearly dropped the vase. “Surely you didn’t get into The Winter Palace on such short notice.”

Bull winked. “Perks of being in the restaurant business.”

Laughing, Dorian set the tulips in their container and wiped his hands on a tea towel. “Well. You are quite full of surprises, aren’t you?” He took a couple steps closer to Bull.

“That’s the idea,” Bull smirked, leaning into his space just a bit.

It would be so, so easy to just slide his hands up Bull’s chest, loop them around the back of his neck, and pull him down. The urge was almost overpowering, but Dorian fought it, leaning away an inch with an exhale just this side of a sigh. He did have some self-control, after all. He was in his kitchen, about to go on a date for the first time in months, not some thumping club at one in the morning. _Time and place, Pavus._

Bull’s smile widened. He gave a little upnod. “What were you gonna do, just now?”

Dorian chuckled. “Something completely inappropriate, seeing as we haven’t actually gone on the date yet, and I don’t, technically speaking, even know your name.”

“Yeah? I like inappropriate. And my name is actually Bull. Bull Ashkaari.”

“Ooh, a Qunari name. How exotic,” Dorian murmured.

“Said the ‘Vint.” Bull leaned back on the kitchen counter. “Dorian Pavus, scion of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous.” He looked far too pleased with himself.

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “I assume Isabela’s been spilling my secrets?”

“And google. You failed to mention being a child prodigy. And you had quite the reputation, there.”

Though Bull didn’t look the slightest bit offput by Dorian's past - if anything, he seemed to greatly approve - sour memories flooded through Dorian. He forced them back and plastered on a wry smile. “ _Had_ being the operative word,” Dorian said tightly. Normally he had a bit more warning when someone dredged up the past and flung it in his face.

“Hey, whoa.” Bull held up both hands. “I’m not judging. You _did_ catch the part where I was a stripper, right?”

Dorian had, in fact, momentarily forgotten. The bitterness which had welled up in this throat drained away. He snickered as he moved out of the kitchen, guiding them back to the front door. “Well with a name like Bull, it was practically your destiny, wasn’t it?”

“I went by Iron Bull, actually. _The_ Iron Bull,” he explained. “The article gives it a little kick.”

Dorian held the door open and locked it behind them. “Why iron? Why not steel?”

“Nah. I like iron. Iron’s something you rip outta the ground, rough, barely tamed, impure. Plus there’s the extra connotation of heat. I like that. Gets people in the right mindset.”

By now they were in the car, Bull clicking his seatbelt into place. Dorian stared at him, wide-eyed. “Do all dancers put such etymological research into their names?”

Bull winked and made a little _chhk_ sound with his tongue. “Only the best ones.” He put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb.

***

There were a few upsides to going out on a Monday. No crowds, for one, which meant extra attention from the staff. And the bosses were usually off, so it was easier for the peons to slip treats to their favorite customers.

Bull was, of course, everyone’s favorite customer. When he and Dorian walked into the Winter Palace, the hostess at the station beamed at them. “Bull! Oh my friend, it has been too long.” She scampered around the podium and gave him a hug.

“Hey, Briala, how’s it going? No Gaspard today, eh?”

Briala snorted. “Not today. Which - well,” she hastily cut off what was clearly a tirade against the supposed manager with a guarded look at Dorian.

“Briala, this is Dorian, my date. Dorian, Briala keeps the Winter Palace running.”

Bull watched as Dorian pulled the woman in for an effortless Orlesian greeting, kissing her cheeks lightly. Damn, the guy was smooth.

“Would you like your table now or prefer a drink at the bar?” Briala asked.

“Haven’t seen Michel in a bit,” Bull mused. “You wanna grab a drink first?”

Dorian gave a light smile. “I’m in your capable hands.”

“Ooh, Bull. I _like_ this one. I like this one a lot.” Briala winked.

“This one? I beg your pardon,” Dorian protested, but there was laughter in his voice. “How many dates do you bring here, anyway?”

“Just you, monsieur, just you.” Briala smiled and waved them into the bar.

Bull was beginning to rethink the wisdom of getting that drink when Dorian's steps faltered, just barely, upon coming into sight of Michel de Chevin. To be fair, the bartender was fucking beautiful. Dorian was hot as fuck, no denying it, but Michel looked like a damn angel. Maybe not the best person to introduce to a date.

“Bull!” the blonde crowed. “You are a welcome sight, my friend. Oh!” He startled when he saw Dorian. “Hello.”

With a little laugh, Dorian scratched his ear. “Hello. Good to see you.”

“You as well.”

Bull’s gaze shot between the two men. “Uh.... you know each other.”

“We’ve never been formally introduced,” Dorian said carefully.

“Well. Uh, Dorian Pavus, this is Michel de Chevin.” It was starting to smell a lot like old history, but that didn’t usually come with the need for introductions.

Michel was quick to ask for their orders. Bull asked for his normal bourbon while Dorian peered at the liquor selection.

“Oh, you have Citadelle,” he said, his voice round with delight.

“Oui monsieur.” Michel’s reply had just a hint of snap to it, a little challenge.

Dorian gave a breathy laugh. “What am I saying, of course you do. Martini, wet and clean, please.”

Michel gave a little bob of his head and sauntered off to make the drinks. Bull was impressed at how quickly the man managed to move and still make it seem casual, rather than a full-fledged retreat.

“What the hell just happened?” Bull leaned down and murmured to Dorian. “Do you know him or what?”

“We’re... acquainted,” Dorian hedged. “We met a while back. Small town, you know how it is. Didn’t catch his name. It wasn’t too long after I’d arrived. He showed me around a bit.”

“Showed you around Haven?”

The drinks arrived. The potential for awkwardness skyrocketed, but then tickets began to spew from the register, and Michel hurried off again.

Dorian sipped his drink delicately. “More like... showed me around the restroom at the Singing Maiden.”

Bull almost choked. Bourbon up the nose was _not_ a pleasant sensation.

Dorian merely gave him a cool glance. “Well you _did_ ask.” He surveyed the bar for a moment before turning his attention back to Bull. “I assume that's not a problem.”

Far as Bull could tell the only problem was that he hadn’t been there to see it. And possibly film it too. For posterity. “Not even a little.”

“Good,” Dorian nodded. “However, perhaps to would be best if we finished our drinks at the table. I don’t want the man to drown in envy that I’ve traded up.”

 _Damn, he’s_ **_really_ ** _smooth._ Bull agreed with a tilt of his head, and they made their way back to Briala.

A few seconds later they were ensconced in the best seats in the house, overlooking the river. “Well this is absolutely lovely. Haven’t been here in quite some time.” Dorian perused the menu.

“I try to stop in every few months. They treat me real well here.”

“I see that,” Dorian smirked.

“Helped Gaspard out a bit. And he hired the son of one of my army buddies. Kid’s doing good for himself here.” Bull glanced at the menu before setting it down. He didn’t actually love Orlesian food. It tasted good, but the portions were too small and the food itself too rich, so he usually came away feeling strangely unsatisfied.

“That was awfully fast. What are you getting?” Dorian asked.

“Steak frites,” Bull said, leaning back as he sipped his bourbon.

“That has the sound of a regular order,” Dorian noted.

Bull shrugged. “I like what I like.”

Dorian smiled at his menu. “At one point in my life I would’ve given you my ‘variety is the spice of life’ bit.”

“But not anymore?”

The silver grey eyes caught Bull, and the smile dimmed. “No. Not that I don’t like a little spice. But these days... well. There’s something to be said for finding something wonderful and sticking with it, I think.” Dorian's attention turned to the wine list. “Anyway, there’s still plenty of room for variety while one looks.”

Bull grinned. “You know I was just thinking something along those lines, myself. I thought it was because I was getting old.”

Dorian's gaze snapped up so fast Bull thought he might pull a muscle. But his expression softened when he saw Bull’s smile, and he tilted his head. “Maybe in _your_ case.”

Briala came up then with two plates. Each contained a... well, Bull wasn’t quite sure. But it was tiny and beautiful and smelled amazing.

“I don’t know how it happened but these simply appeared in the window,” she winked. “Black pudding with seared scallop, apple lemon jus, and pancetta dust.”

Dorian laughed. “I haven’t been treated to a surprise _amuse-bouche_ since I left Tevinter. How utterly delightful.”

Bull had to admit it was pretty fucking delightful. Not as much as seeing the expression on Dorian's face, however. He watched as Dorian and Briala chatted about various menu options and wine pairings.

It was definitely the right call, coming to this restaurant. After texting Dorian the night before, Bull immediately followed up with Isabela to get more intel. The name was a start, plus the fact that Dorian was, in ‘Bela’s words, ‘the most loveable snob you’ll ever meet’. She hinted around that there had been a bad breakup at one point, before they were friends. Armed with a last name, Google provided the rest. And there was a lot. The Pavus family was big money and old school. Dorian had been the golden child, from what Bull could tell. Precocious and talented - lots of news clippings of concerts that he’d given as a boy prodigy. And like a lot of young celebrities, there was a backlash, starting around when Dorian was fifteen. Canceled appearances, getting caught in clubs, same kind of thing that happens everywhere.

The weird thing was, after Dorian turned eighteen, the news completely dried up. There didn’t seem to be any predicating event either - no car crash or public collapse. Just - gone. The next mention was something local from a few years ago, a press release from the college when he got hired. No social media under the name Dorian Pavus, no recent pictures aside from the college staff directory.

Bull wasn’t an idiot. That kind of disappearing act isn’t something that's easy to pull off after the fact. Suppressing the news is easiest when the news is happening, not later. Bull guessed Dorian had maybe done a stint in rehab, maybe his family covered it up. Still, that usually came with a triumphant return to the scene later.

Turning up in a tiny town in the South, living a modest life in a low-profile job? It didn’t fit the profile. So Bull stopped snooping. Whatever had happened, either Dorian would tell him or he wouldn’t. Didn’t matter anyhow. The guy was gorgeous and talented and funny and interesting - been a long time since Bull had even two off the list at the same time. Still, with that kind of past, that kind of money, it was clear Dorian would appreciate the Winter Palace.

So Bull made a few calls and set it up. And damn, he was glad he did. Dorian was practically glowing with happiness, the kind that comes from being in your element. The vestiges of awkwardness from running into Michel had fallen away, and now there was just Dorian, running a thumb over his bottom lip, frowning in concentration as he considered the wine list.

Dorian glanced up. “What?”

Bull decreased the wattage of the smile on his face, not realizing it had crept up on him. “Nothing.”

“Do you have an opinion on this?” Dorian gestured at the list.

“I’m in your capable hands,” Bull grinned.

Dorian snorted. “We’ll have the Carastes, decanted if you don’t mind.”

Briala bowed her head. “An excellent choice.” She took the remainder of their order and glided off.

“I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t have taken the reins like that,” Dorian said.

“Nah, it’s good. Don’t know a lot about wine. I can tell if it’s good or bad, but not what goes with what.”

“There’s a kind of magic in it, I think,” Dorian said. “Amazing, really. You take a liquid with one set of flavors, and mix it with food, and it becomes something entirely new.”

“Like alchemy,” Bull offered.

“Exactly.”

“Where’d you learn so much about wine?” Bull popped the scallop thing in his mouth. It was absolutely delicious.

“Oh. I. Traveled a bit. After college.” Dorian blinked, caught off guard by the question. To cover the moment, he also ate his appetizer.

It was a good distraction - Dorian practically moaned with delight. “Sweet Maker, that's heavenly. Do they always send out little treats?”

“Well they always do for me,” Bull admitted.

The rest of the meal was pretty fucking fantastic. Bull’s steak was perfect - no surprise there - and whatever wine Dorian had picked was tasty. The man seemed to love his lamb, and the conversation had been easy. Shit. A guy could get used to this, Bull realized.They lingered over coffee and plate of cookies that also, mysteriously and entirely by coincidence, appeared in the window.

They each had a half-cup of coffee left when one of the cooks emerged from the kitchen. Bull grinned ear to ear. “Gatt! Hey, man, it’s great to see you.” He shook the cook’s hand. “Dorian, this is Gatt, the kid I was telling you about.”

“Are you who I should thank for such an amazing meal?” Dorian extended his hand.

Gatt’s smile faltered as he caught the Tevene accent. “Yes. Was it to your liking?”

“Easily the best meal I’ve had in years,” Dorian said.

“Well. Good. I’m... glad you liked it.” Gatt turned his attention back to Bull. “Can’t stay, I’m afraid - need to get back to prep for tomorrow. But I wanted to catch you, say hello.” He shook Bull’s hand again, and with a last suspicious glance at Dorian, headed into the back.

Dorian leaned forward. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, I’m just an idiot. I forgot - Gatt’s Dalish. Originally. My buddy adopted him when he was eight. He was a refugee from Tevinter.”

“Oh,” Dorian said, leaning back. His face closed into a frown. “I see. Well. Good thing he didn’t know your date was a ‘Vint ahead of time. Though I doubt he’d spit in your steak, I’m not sure he’d have such restraint when it came to my meal. Not entirely sure I’d blame him, either.”

“Not very patriotic, I take it?”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. There are things I miss about my homeland very much. But we don’t go for halfway measures. The things that are good are extraordinary. The things that are bad?” He winced and shook his head. “Well, we truly plumb the depths.”

Something about the gesture made it seem like Dorian had a little bit of personal exposure to the depths. It was in the way his eyes went a little unfocused, like he was remembering something, seeing something that was right on the back of his eyelids.

Bull steered the conversation away from Dorian, giving him a little space. “Yeah, my head cook’s a ‘Vint. He’s not too keen on it either.”

“Really?”

“He’s trans,” Bull explained.

“Ah. Yes. Not one of our strong points. Last I heard they were criminalizing public restrooms.” Dorian shook his head. “What about you? Qunari name, ex-military - you must have an opinion.”

“Ahhh, I’m just a guy who makes pizzas now,” Bull grinned, taking the check from Briala.

“What’s my share?” Dorian asked automatically, reaching for his wallet.

“What, you kidding? I asked you,” Bull said, sliding his credit card into the little sleeve. “Plus, it’s hardly anything,” he admitted. “I told you, they take good care of me here.”

Dorian didn’t look convinced. “Flowers _and_ dinner? A bit over the top, wouldn’t you say?”

“Nah. It was worth it.”

Dorian's eyebrows shot to his hairline. “A mite presumptuous, aren’t we?”

“You don’t get it. I’m not trying to get you naked. I’m trying to get you to smile. And I did. Buncha times. Totally worth it.”

“What?” Dorian spluttered. A flush rose on his cheeks.

Bull shrugged, grinning. “I like seeing you smile. It’s cute.”

Dorian drew himself up. “I am many things, but I am not _cute.”_ He folded his arms and gave a little nod of his head, as if that settled the matter.

This, of course, was the cutest thing yet. Briala caught the tail end as she was bringing the receipt back for Bull to sign. She snickered, then covered her mouth with her hand.

“Oh, I see how it is. Of course. Side with the man in charge of the tip,” Dorian sniffed.

Bull just laughed and signed the bill. “C’mon, cutie. Let’s get outta here.”

Dorian grumbled all the way to the car, and yet Bull couldn’t stop smiling. A guy could definitely get used to this.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Citadelle is my favorite French gin. Highly recommend it, btw. Great in a wet martini, but don't dirty it up too much. The citrus notes don't play well with too much olive brine.


	4. Coitus Interruptus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull takes Dorian home after their date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE NOTE RATING CHANGE. SMUT AHOY!

The inevitable date-type questions happened on the way home from the Winter Palace. “So what brought you to Haven?” Dorian asked, glancing out the window of the car.

Bull eased on the brake as they rolled up to a stoplight. “Krem. When I decided to open a restaurant, I looked him up. He was working in Redcliffe at the time, managing a kitchen at an Antivan place. I couldn’t offer him the same pay, but I was flexible in location. Just so happened that he’d fallen for a Haven girl - actually, she’s the ‘maiden’ at the Singing Maiden.” Bull shot a knowing eyebrow waggle at Dorian.

Dorian looked back at him, his face absolutely neutral. “Oh, is there a singer there? I hadn’t noticed.”

Bull burst out laughing. “Nice. Anyway. Haven had a space for sale, so we set up here. And it’s good. I like small towns. Big cities make me edgy.” It was probably too soon to mention the PTSD. Not exactly first-date conversation, that.

Dorian nodded. “It’s funny, younger me would have scoffed and rolled his eyes. But there is something nice about Haven, isn’t there? I find I quite like it, despite... well. Water under the bridge,” he said, looking out the window again. “You might want to turn here rather than further up. Avoid the traffic light.” He pointed at a side street.

Bull recognized a change in topic when he saw one, so he didn’t ask Dorian how a concert cellist with his refined pedigree ended up in a podunk town in Ferelden. He signaled and turned into a tree-lined lane.

The shortcut trimmed quite a bit of time off the drive, and they pulled up to Dorian's home quicker than Bull had expected. Turning the ignition off, Bull twisted in his seat to face Dorian, making sure to lean away just a little. Bull knew quite well that his size could be intimidating, a fact he’d used to his advantage more times than he could count. But in a closed in space like a car, and in such a highly-charged atmosphere, he wanted to make it clear he wasn’t pressuring Dorian into anything. “This was fun,” Bull said, keeping his voice light.

Dorian gave him a shy half-smile. “It was, rather.” His eyes went far away for a second, like he was checking to make sure he meant it. The half-smile became a whole one as he re-focused on Bull. “Would you like to beat around the bush a bit longer? I can invite you in and pretend it’s for a nightcap, if you like. Though you seem like you don’t mind cutting to the chase.” He leaned a little closer to Bull, ostensibly to unbuckle his seatbelt.

Bull leaned closer too, trying not to grin too wide. “You sure? Don’t you want to test the waters first?” He leaned further, sliding a hand up Dorian's arm to his shoulder.

Dorian gave a single, breathy laugh. “I honestly can’t imagine it’s necessary, but perhaps better safe than sorry.” With no hesitation, he pushed himself up, angling his head for a kiss.

After a second to sort out noses, they pressed together, just lips. The little hum that Dorian made, a sound equal parts hunger and satiation, shot through Bull. And then he felt Dorian's mouth open, his tongue slide against Bull’s lips as he gave a tiny gasp of satisfaction.

Things got very frantic, very fast. “We’d better -- mmph -- get inside,” Bull growled around a mouthful of kisses. "Someone might see."

“Mm -- yes -- ungh -- won’t somebody think -- mmm -- of the children?” Dorian could barely get the words out.

The joke made them both laugh, and they broke away, panting slightly. “Did you just quote the Simpsons at me?” Bull snickered.

Dorian froze. “If I say yes, do I still get sex?”

Bull laughed again. “Long as you don’t do it during.”

Dorian slid a hand up Bull’s thigh, swiping his thumb over the now-prominent bulge. “I rather hazard I’ll have other things on my mind.”

Bull hissed at the contact. “Inside. Now.”

With a devilish chuckle, Dorian pulled his hand away and scrambled out of the vehicle. “Catch me if you can.”

Laughing, Bull gave chase. Dorian sprinted to the door, giggling under his breath, fumbling with his keys. Bull caught him before he got the door open, caging him with his arms. Dorian squirmed his ass against him, finally managing to get the damn door unlocked.

They made it about halfway down the hall before Dorian latched on to Bull for more kisses. Hey, who was Bull to disappoint the man? So he hoisted him by the ass, pressing him to the wall.

Dorian moaned in delight, turning his head to allow Bull better access to his neck. But after a minute or so, Bull’s back started to protest. Wall sex looked great in porn, but the reality often left a little to be desired. And there was a couch only a few yards away, so Bull took the initiative to relocate the proceedings.

Once they got settled, Dorian writhed his way around to half-lay on top of Bull. He didn’t break the kiss, but there was a lot more heavy breathing, which was sexy as fuck. And then Dorian started rolling his hips.

Bull groaned. “Damn, Dorian. Not sure we’re gonna make it to a bed, you keep that up.”

Dorian smiled around the mouthful of Bull’s bottom lip. “I’m fine with that,” he breathed, sliding his hand between them.

Truth be told, Bull was more than fine with it too. Couch sex meant it’d either be easier to leave after, without the pressure of being in a bed. For the first time in a while, Bull found himself wondering if staying wouldn’t be so bad. Waking up with a bedful of Dorian -- well, there were definitely worse ways to wake up.

Dorian had gotten Bull’s fly undone and was scraping his fingernails across the fabric of his boxers when Bull’s attention was caught at the window. A police car was driving up the street, siren blaring. But then the siren had cut off, and the blue and red flashing had continued, right out front.

“Oh no,” Dorian slumped. “Please not now.” With a deep sigh, he rested his forehead against Bull’s chest.

A second later there was a pounding at the door, followed by a male voice announcing “Police”, as if it wasn’t obvious.

“I’m so sorry,” Dorian murmured, sliding off Bull. He straightened his clothing and hair and headed for the door.

Bull did his best not to freak out. Dorian didn’t seem frightened, more like annoyed. Still, Dorian wasn’t a seven foot tall Qunari guy. Bull wasn’t exactly scared of the cops, but he wasn’t an idiot, either.

He fastened up his pants and tucked his shirt in. He couldn’t see the door, but he saw the hallway, light flicked on and heard Dorian open the door.

“Hello, officers,” Dorian greeted them in a weary tone.

Bull didn’t know if he should go into the hallway or what. Whatever was going on, clearly it was a _thing_. He decided to wait, see what’s up.

“Mr. Pavus.” It was a woman’s voice, formal, but not angry. “How are you this evening?”

“Fine, Aveline,” Dorian sighed. “Inasmuch as any evening involving a visit from you can be fine.”

Bull heard a snort of laughter that sounded vaguely familiar.

“Rutherford!” The woman scolded like it was her job.

“Sorry.” The chuckling took a second to fully die down. Bull was sure he knew that voice. Still, probably not a good idea to just pop around the corner with no warning.

“No offense,” Dorian said. “You know I would love to see you when you’re not working Aveline. Anyway, what was it this time?”

The man spoke up. “Giselle swore she saw a quote unquote ‘huge Qunari man’ chase you into the house. She was _very concerned_ for your wellbeing.”

“Oh for the love of - concerned I’d never get laid again, more like.”

“Mr. Pavus!” Aveline gasped. Rutherford just laughed.

Might as well give it up. Bull cleared his throat and then raised his voice. “Dorian? Is this the part where I come out with my hands up?”

“I know that voice,” Rutherford said. “Bull?”

Bull put an easy smile on and made sure to keep his hands visible, just in case. His suspicion to the owner of the male voice was right. “Cullen! How’s it going?”

“You two know each other?” The other cop was a tall redhead, with a frown that looked permanently etched onto her face.

“Oh sure,” Cullen confirmed. “We met at - um... a while back. Before I joined the force.”

“So this is where you ended up,” Bull grinned. “Was kind of offended when you didn’t take me up on my offer.”

Cullen blushed deep crimson and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes, well.” He cleared his throat.

“In any event,” Dorian said to Aveline. “As you can see, I’m fine, not trapped against my will.”

Aveline acknowledged the point with a curt nod. “Sorry to have disturbed your evening, Mr. Pavus.”

“No problem,” Dorian sighed wearily.

Cullen held his hand out for Bull to shake. “Good to see you, Bull. Have a - um. Good night.” His eyes sparkled as they glanced toward Dorian and back.

Aveline looked like she wanted to smack him upside the head, so Bull refrained from laughing. “Will do.”

They retreated down the steps and drove off, this time without the sirens and lights blaring. Dorian took a deep breath. “Well. _That_ was colossally shitty timing.”

“Yeah, uh, no offense, but what the fuck was that all about?”

“Mother Giselle,” Dorian groaned. “An old Chantry bitty that lives across the street. When I first moved here - ah - there was a bit of an issue with my family. My father reached out to her, to try to cajole me into - well, it doesn’t matter. She’s an interfering, homophobic busy body. Calls the police on me a couple times a year, out of ‘concern’.” Dorian shook his head. “Not much I can do about it, aside from move.”

“Oh, I dunno. I’d be tempted to start gardening in nothing but short shorts, maybe do some window-washing in the nude, ‘break’ the blinds in my bathroom and not fix ‘em, that kind of thing,” Bull suggested.

“Oh, eugh,” Dorian grimaced. “I do not want to think about her seeing me naked, thank you very much.”

Bull shrugged. “I’m just saying, I still got a lot of outfits. I can come over dressed as every one of the Village People, you just say the word.”

Dorian's eyes went wide, and a devilish gleam sprouted up. “Tempting,” he mused. “Very, very tempting.” He led Bull back into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of white wine from the fridge, brandishing it. “Speaking of temptation?”

“Sure, why not,” Bull said, sitting at the counter.

“So how do you know Officer Rutherford?” Dorian asked, fetching down a pair of glasses from the array in his cabinet. Bull hid a smile to see the various sizes and shapes. Of course Dorian was the kind of guy to have specific glasses for wines. Bull usually grabbed whatever vessel was clean and approximately the right size - jelly jar, teacup, whatever.

“He used to be a soldier - Templar, actually. When he retired, his buddy Samson hired me and Bela to dance at his going-away party. Didn’t usually take those ‘haha the stripper’s a dude’ jobs, but he insisted that Cullen would like it, so.” Bull shrugged and took the glass from Dorian.

Dorian grinned as he sipped his wine. “And did he?” He leaned down and rested his elbows on the counter, his ass swaying temptingly.

Bull smiled and took a drink. “He blushed so hard Bela was worried for him. So she sat in his lap and did the whole ‘checking to see if he had a fever’ thing, kissing his forehead, getting her tits right in his face. But eventually he got a couple drinks in him and lost some of the shyness. He actually got up and danced with us. It was pretty hot, actually. I offered him a job but he turned me down.”

Spluttering his wine slightly, Dorian laughed. “That’s a shame. Though I already get to experience the part where he comes to my door dressed as a police officer often enough.”

“See? You’re halfway there.”

The conversation paused. What with the interruption, and it getting late, Bull began mentally preparing himself to have Dorian call it a night. The clock above the sink ticked audibly.

“So,” Bull said after counting out five of the tiny sounds.

“So.” Dorian looked to the side. “I find myself wondering....” His voice petered out, and with a sharp inhale he roused himself from whatever train of thought. “Well,” he said, his voice unnaturally bright, “there’s simply no smooth way to pick up where we left off, is there?” He drained his glass. “Shame, really.”

Bull really, really wanted to know what Dorian had been about to say that made him look so sad. But that wasn’t the ball he’d been tossed; time to decide what play to make. “If it’s smooth you’re concerned about, I can think of something.”

“Can you?” Dorian looked both desperate and hopeful at the same time.

Bull didn’t answer. He stood, slowly, purposefully flexing his arms against the countertop. Dorian's eyes went a bit wild and he swallowed visibly. With the same, deliberate slowness, Bull stalked around the counter, watching Dorian's body language carefully.

He looked nervous. It was enough of a shift from his demeanor earlier that Bull paid extra-close attention, coming to stand behind Dorian, as close as he could without touching him.

For all his slowness, Bull’s mind was working overtime. Dorian had been very, very eager just a few minutes ago. Could be that the flirting was something he had to work himself up to. Lotta people lose momentum if they talked themselves into something and then got interrupted.

So Bull leaned down, slow, slow, still not touching Dorian at all, running his lips as close as he could to the side of Dorian's neck, letting his breath sweep over his skin, and breathing in Dorian's scent. “Smooth enough?”

Dorian shivered and exhaled sharply, his posture slumping, as if he were melting. “Yes,” he whispered.

Bull reached down and put his hands on top of Dorian's wrists, circling them loosely with his fingers. He pulled, gently, oh, so gently, guiding Dorian's hands back, placing them on Bull’s hips. Dorian's breath was fast and shallow, irregular gulps of air. Bull slowly moved his own hands to Dorian's hips, just resting them there, not gripping at all.

It was Dorian's fingers that clenched first, fisting Bull’s pants. That's when Bull closed the distance between them, sudden and sharp, jerking their bodies together, nipping at the shell of Dorian's ear at the same time.

Dorian moaned, full voice, grinding up against Bull.

“Yeah?” Bull asked, his lips still on Dorian's ear.

Dorian nodded. “Yes. Yes, god yes.”

Sliding his hands further around, Bull’s thumbs traced the grooves at the top of Dorian's thighs. “Bedroom upstairs?”

Nodding, Dorian pushed backwards, as if to lead the way. Bull held his ground, giving a little groan of pleasure as Dorian's ass slid against him. Dorian whimpered and Bull said a silent prayer that he’d be as vocal as he seemed.

They managed to get up the stairs. Once they were inside the room, Bull spun Dorian around, holding both cheeks for another kiss, backing the man up against the bed.

When the back of Dorian's knees hit the mattress, he tumbled backward, looking up at Bull, his eyes almost black. He immediately started stripping off his shirt and pants; much as Bull would’ve loved to have a nice long striptease, he followed suit. They’d had too many interruptions to drag this out any more.

Dorian's still struggling to pull his pants and underwear from around his feet when Bull got his own trousers and boxers loosened. Dorian abandoned his own clothing with a whine, reaching for Bull’s cock like he was starving for it.

At the last possible second, he looked up at Bull for permission. Bull was already nodding. Dorian put his palm on the crown and licked his shaft, sucking his frenulum, then moving down to his balls and back again. Dorin moaned again, though it didn’t sound like it was for Bull’s edification. More like he couldn’t help it, which was a thousand times hotter, in Bull’s view.

“Oh, fuck,” Bull grunted, watching as Dorian licked him, fist twisting around the shaft. He kept moaning, now purposefully; Bull started to worry that Dorian was faking his enthusiasm, though it certainly seemed real enough.

He stopped worrying when Dorian looked up at him, his eyes silently begging, urging Bull on.

That look ratcheted up the intensity way too fast; Bull had to slow things down. “Whoa, whoa,” he said, laying his hands on Dorian's hair as he leaned away. “Easy.”

Dorian gave a little mewl of disappointment and licked his lips. Shit, it was insanely hot. Bull guided him on to his back, yanking the rest of both of their clothing away.

There was a little glow coming through the blinds from the streetlamp, and a swatch of light from the hallway that didn’t reach the bed. Bull was half-tempted to turn on a lamp so he could watch Dorian properly, but some people got self-conscious, and Bull didn’t want to risk it. So he ran his hands over Dorian; the guy had a slim build but his muscles were defined. Bull could feel them quivering under Dorian's skin.

Bull leaned down for another kiss, slow and open. Dorian couldn’t seem to stop making noise, though he bit back his groan when Bull’s tongue ran along his neck.

“Like all these noises you’re making for me,” Bull prompted. He liked more than noise, truth be told, but dirty talk was like lights on: could be great or it could ruin everything.

“Ye-es?” Dorian choked out.

“Oh yeah. Like knowing you feel good,” Bull murmured. He ran a hand down Dorian's chest, then traced a finger along his cock.

“Oh god, yes, please,” Dorian said. “It feels good.”

Bull hummed in approval. Dorian bucked his hips up, chasing the sensation. Or maybe chasing something more. Bull dragged his fingertips down further, sliding across Dorian's perineum.

Dorian groaned and pushed his hips higher, Bull’s finger slipping along the cleft of his ass.

“Ooh, looks like you like that,” Bull grinned.

Dorian nodded desperately. “God yes. Yes. Will - will you?”

Bull considered whether it was worth it to try to tease Dorian into saying “fuck me”. Nah. So he went for the next best thing: saying it himself. “Will I what? Fuck you? That what you want?” He tapped his finger against Dorian's entrance.

“Nnngh, yes, yes, _god_ yes,” Dorian began to laugh. Somehow Bull found that reassuring. “There’s -- top drawer,” Dorian waved vaguely at the nightstand.

Bull rolled away from Dorian and yanked the drawer open. It was on the far side of the bed, in almost total darkness. He hesitated, not wanting to just blindly rifle around.

Dorian laughed again and rolled over, turning on the bedside lamp. “Sorry.” He scooted back to the center of the bed while Bull grabbed a condom and lube.

So much for not breaking the moment. With the inertia less pressing, Bull’s instincts kicked in and he took a second to examine the packaging. Something about Dorian's eagerness had hints of it maybe having been a while, and condoms don’t last forever.

“Are you... checking the expiration date?” Dorian accused. “Really?”

Best just to own up to it. “Hey, better safe than sorry,” Bull said conscientiously. “All fun and games until you have one disintegrate when you put it on.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “It’s not the overheated glove box in my mother’s Caddy.”

“No? Huh,” Bull squinted around the room in confusion.

Dorian laughed, covering his face with both hands, then dragging them down. “How do we keep getting interrupted like this?”

“This isn’t an interruption, it’s an intermission,” Bull corrected him. He leaned over towards the lamp, looking to Dorian for confirmation.

“You... can leave it on. If you like.” Dorian's cheeks bloomed with a dusky blush.

“Oh, I like.” Bull grinned. “Now where were we?”

“I believe you were about to make good on a promise to fuck me,” Dorian said. Not easy to make something so formal sound so hot, but he managed. Probably helped that he was stroking his own cock as he said it, sliding his thumb along his slit.

Bull stretched to one side of him, hitching one leg up. He drizzled a little lube on his finger. “You ready?”

“Oh yes,” Dorian said. His eyes screwed shut a moment later, when Bull’s finger began rubbing circles into Dorian's hole. “Ohhh yes,” he sighed.

He kept his eyes shut as Bull worked him open, his mouth occasionally forming silent words, and some not-so-silent ones: _yes, there, oh._

Bull couldn’t look away from Dorian's face. Fuck, it was intense, watching him. “More?”

Dorian nodded, catching his breath as Bull applied more lube, then arching his neck and moaning when Bull added a second finger.

“Too much?”

Dorian shook his head. “No, no, it’s... it’s good.” An almost beatific smile stole across his face. For all that he objected to the pause in the proceedings, it seemed to have taken the edge off Dorian's need. But that just meant he was relaxing into it, getting comfortable, and that was somehow hotter.

Damn. _Damn._ Bull was already starting to plan out the next time, already craving Dorian's reaction. He pulled himself up short. _Yeah, why don’t you just get ahold of yourself, buddy. Maybe worry a little less about next time, a little more about now._

He concentrated on Dorian, the way he moved and sounded. Bull pushed his fingers in just a bit farther and Dorian's eyes flew open, his hand shooting out to grip Bull’s forearm.

Bull eased up. “Sorry.”

“God no, don’t be sorry,” Dorian panted, a half-smile trying to assert itself. “And for the love of god don’t _stop.”_ He loosened his grip on Bull’s arm but didn’t let go, his eyes falling shut again.

Dorian started making more noise, gasping and moaning and whining. And then Bull was grunting a bit too, his hips rolling, sliding his own cock against Dorian's leg.

“God, Bull, I’m ready, I’m ready,” Dorian said finally, shaking his head.

Bull dabbed a bit of lube on the tip of his cock, then rolled the condom down. He slicked Dorian's entrance up once more for good measure, then pressed the tip in, guiding it with his fingers.

Dorian immediately began to whine at the stretch. “Fuck,” he gasped. “Oh fuck.”

Bull gingerly rolled his hips, not a real thrust, not yet. Dorian moved with him, his body adjusting incrementally. He winced, seemingly in discomfort, and Bull immediately pulled out.

“What - why -” Dorian blinked his eyes open.

“Just a little more lube,” Bull said. “That all right?”

Dorian nodded, though if it was in confusion or gratitude, it was hard to tell. He grabbed at Bull greedily, sighing in contentment when Bull pushed into him.

“Damn, that's good,” Bull muttered, mouthing at Dorian's shoulder.

Dorian made an unintelligible noise of pleasure. He started bucking back against Bull, insistent.

It was tempting to just fuck the crap out of him. Dorian certainly seemed to want him to do just that. But even if Bull thought Dorian was ready, he himself wasn’t.

“Easy, easy,” Bull murmured. “Nice and slow.”

With a frustrated whine, Dorian stilled himself somewhat. His eyes still were shut tight. Bull began to regret leaving the light on -- Dorian had hardly opened his eyes. Maybe he was self-conscious after all. Bull hoped it was that and not something else. He wasn’t above fucking someone as a substitute, but it was better to know that going in.

Still, Dorian was clearly enjoying himself. He was stroking his cock, breathing in time to the motion of Bull's hips. Bull picked up the pace, deepened his thrust, and the breaths turned into moans, percussive little _ah-ah-ahs_ that were hot as hell.

“Fuck, Dorian. Yeah, oh fuck, yeah that's it.” Bull shifted to get a better angle. He slipped out, causing Dorian to whimper in disappointment.

“Sorry,” Bull mumbled. He moved around to lay between Dorian's thighs, lifting his calves up. “This okay?” Bull dropped a kiss to his ankle.

Dorian's eyes were open now. He gnawed his bottom lip and nodded.

When Bull slid into him again, they both groaned. Fuck, it was good. And all the better to see Dorian's eyes, blown out with lust. They tightened with yielding but he did not look away.

It was still slow, but hard; Dorian's body jolted under Bull with each thrust. Dorian's hand glided over his own cock twice for each thrust. Bull didn’t trust himself to go any faster, not with how good it felt, how raw Dorian's expression was.

He shifted his posture, and Dorian's eyes flew wide open as he whined. “God, yes, please don't stop.”

“You close?”

“Yes, fuck, yes. More? Can you - ungh, god, please,” Dorian babbled.

Bull gritted his teeth, fucking into Dorian faster. And now he was panting, his mouth open, staring into Bull’s face with a combination of panic and vulnerability.

It was too much to take. Bull came, grunting as he ground his hips.

Dorian was close, but hadn't quite hit the edge. Bull pulled out, wincing at the frantic sound Dorian gave him. He pushed two fingers into Dorian's ass, angling up, and leaned down, bringing their mouths together.

It wasn't exactly a kiss, more like shared breath, their tongues sliding across each other. Dorian began to shudder, crying out underneath Bull. Bull hummed his encouragement into Dorian's lips, not wanting to risk words or anything that might pull Dorian out of the moment.

He came with a broken sob, his whole body jerking and releasing. Bull held him through it, wishing it was his cock and not his fingers feeling the pulsing clench, but grateful for even that.

He pulled his hand away once the aftershocks turned into twitches of over sensitivity. Dorian's chest was spattered with pearlescent droplets, his expression a bit dazed.

“You good?” Bull asked after a few moments.

“Mmm, yes, very good,” Dorian purred.

“Mind if I hop in your shower quick?”

With a nod, Dorian waved at the door to the bathroom. “Clean towels in the closet. If you wouldn't mind grabbing me one?”

Sitting up, Bull let his gaze drop to take in the mess on Dorian's skin. He wanted to lick it all away, or have Dorian shower with him, maybe both. Probably too intense to get into that just now. Something was nagging at him, anyway. So he leaned down for another kiss, light and brief. “You got it.”

Once the hot water hit his skin, Bull began to sort out what was bothering him. It was a lot of little things, really. How eager Dorian had seemed at first, but how hesitant he'd been after the cops showed up. How he'd kept his eyes closed for most of the sex. The big one, though, the thing it took Bull a couple minutes to realize, was that Bull had done almost nothing himself. Aside from getting Dorian past his hesitation in the kitchen, and right there at the end, Dorian had instigated all of it. Bull had barely even touched his cock.

Some would call that generous, if they noticed the disparity at all. It sets off alarm bells for Bull, especially combined with everything else. At the very least, the skill with which Dorian had manipulated Bull was incredible. That was usually Bull’s thing.

Bull knew it was easy to hide behind that generosity, to get exactly what you need without letting someone get too close. Maybe Dorian had never been looking for more than a fuck. Maybe he'd been humoring Bull with the date. Maybe Bull had misread the whole thing.

Damn it, he was starting to really like the guy. Maybe...maybe it'd be okay. It was possible Bull was wrong. It had happened. And anyway, even if that was all true, maybe Dorian would change his mind now that he’d gotten to know Bull a bit. Pouring on a little charm wouldn’t hurt. What would hurt would be to go in there all pathetic and disappointed, like he hadn’t just had some of the most intense sex in recent memory.

After realizing he was just zoning out and wasting water, he twisted off the faucet. Bull toweled dry slowly, wondering what the hell he was gonna say once he went back in the bedroom. He’d think of something. He always did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah so the chapter title is lame but it was either that or "Interrupting Cow" and I couldn't in all good conscience name a chapter after the worst knock-knock joke in existence. 
> 
> also not even a little sorry about the Simpsons reference. What can I say, I'm old.


	5. Nightcap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull stays just a bit longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mind the updated tags!

Dorian cleaned himself off with the dampened hand towel Bull had fetched for him. He tossed the soiled cloth into the bin, then flopped back on the bed, listening to the sound of the shower.

_ He’s not going to stay. People who want to stay don’t get in the shower. They stay in bed and cuddle. Right? _

It wasn’t that Dorian always wanted his the men he slept with to stay; usually the opposite, in fact. But that in itself carried a level of disappointment -- a small amount, to be sure, but not nothing. He wanted  _ some _ one to stay, at some point. The feeling of letdown after sex, whether the man of the hour left of his own volition or because Dorian kicked him out, was now so ingrained that he almost couldn’t remember what it was like to feel any other way.

Almost.

_ Don’t go there.  _ With well-practiced ease Dorian shifted his mind away from the memories hovering at the edge of his mind, moving towards more recent matters. Like the fact that Giselle had essentially blown his chances of getting another shot with Bull. Talk about a red flag.  _ Oh, yes, Bull, please come back to my place. There’s only a 45% chance the police will show up. _

He grabbed the pillow and put it over his face, like it could help him hide from humiliation itself. It was probably only pity that had moved Bull to pick up the pieces of the evening at all. Dorian had expended all his courage and confidence in the car -- thank god Bull had been able to make up for it in the kitchen.

Maybe the sex had been good for Bull, though? He seemed to enjoy it well enough. Dorian desperately clung to that hope, and tried not to think of how desperately he had clung to Bull. Had it been obvious how long it had been since Dorian had had sex? Probably, the man checked the expiration dates on the condom, for god’s sake. And he was right to. His most recent stint with promiscuity had been brief and ended years ago, right after -

_ Don’t go there. Don’t. Just be happy the sex was so good. _

And god, it had been  _ good.  _ Dorian had to keep his eyes shut, afraid that the look of ecstasy on his face would freak Bull out. He half-groaned into the pillow, the sense memory of Bull’s cock sliding across his prostate making his own dick twitch weakly. 

“That what you’re into? You should’ve said.”

Dorian squawked with panic, yanking the pillow away from his face. Bull was standing there, wearing a towel and a naughty grin.

“Ugh, what? No! Oh, for god’s sake,” Dorian rolled over, the second half of the phrase buried into the mattress. He hadn’t heard the shower turn off. 

The bed dipped beside him and Bull’s hand traced up his spine. Dorian shivered. He pushed up to his elbows and squinted at Bull. “Mathematically speaking, how many more ways could I humiliate myself this evening, do you think?”

The fingers skittered back down over his skin. “Oh, I dunno,” Bull mused. “We talking straight line probabilities, or going with a quantum parallel-universe model?”

It was so exactly  _ not  _ the response Dorian had expected. “So you’re saying you think it’s infinite, is that it? Wonderful,” Dorian groused. 

“Hmm,” Bull said, continuing his caress. “‘Course it sounds like you think you already  _ did  _ humiliate yourself, which, mmm... no, sorry. I must’ve missed it.”

“The part where I ran into an anonymous bathroom fuck from a few years ago? The part where the police showed up? The part where it looks like I have a pillow fetish?” Dorian ticked the transgressions off one by one. A part of his brain registered that Bull was still touching him, now smoothing his whole hand across Dorian's back, and he arched into it without thinking.

“Hey. I don’t kink shame. And the rest was just normal shit, far as I’m concerned.” 

He sounded sincere. Dorian had given him plenty of opportunity to laugh along, and Bull hadn’t. What the devil was going on here?

Only one way to find out. “So,” Dorian said, clearing his throat. “What happens now?”

The motion of Bull’s hand ceased. “I... guess it depends on a lot of things,” Bull said.

Dorian hesitated. “What kinds of things?”

“Well, if we’re going the parallel-universe theory here, every choice leads to a new alternate universe. For instance, in one universe, I go home and sleep in my bed. And in another, I stay here. So in a way, some version of us is gonna have all the bases covered.”

_Is he saying he wants to stay? Or trying to let me down easy?_ _Do I even_ ** _want_** _him to stay?_ Dorian decided to punt. Squirming around to his back, he looked skeptically up at Bull. “I don’t think that's how it works. Shouldn’t there be something about particles decaying and electron states and so forth? I feel like there should be valence shells in there somewhere.”

“Ah, shit, you called my bluff.” Bull’s lips were pulled into a friendly grin, but his eye glinted with something much darker as it roved down Dorian's body. “Sounded good though, right?”

Suddenly acutely aware of his nudity, Dorian flushed under the gaze. “Do you think, in one of those universes, there might be one where you enjoy tea?”

A flash of confusion crossed Bull’s face, but he played along. “Several. Including this one.”

“I like a cup of herbal tea at night, on occasion,” Dorian explained.

“Nice. You got enough for two?”

“I do, in fact.”

“Alright then,” Bull grinned. Then he squinted at the corner of Dorian's mouth. “Wait, hold on though, you got a little -” He leaned down quickly and caught Dorian in a kiss, little more than a peck on the lips. “Okay, there. We’re good.”

It was possibly the most saccharine maneuver anyone had ever pulled on Dorian. He was left blinking in shock, both at the fact that Bull had done it at all and for the warmth that flooded through his chest. 

Dorian's ploy to buy time only went so far in terms of reducing the awkwardness. He hadn’t exactly extended an invitation to stay, only to prolong the date with a cup of tea. Which begged the question of how much clothing Bull should put on. He’d put on his boxers and white t-shirt and was standing in the middle of the room, holding his pants in his hand. After a second, he bent over to begin pulling them on.

“Would you like to hang those?” Dorian blurted the question. When Bull looked at him quizzically, Dorian's brain churned out a justification. “It’s a beautiful night. I thought we could sit on the patio, but there’s a fair bit of pollen this time of year. Hate to get them dirty.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Bull said, giving no indication as to whether he bought into the reasoning or not. He handed them over to Dorian, who hung them on the clothes butler in the corner. 

After a few minutes to wait for water to boil and tea to steep, they moved to the back yard. The moon was just on the wane, outlining the garden in silver. Dorian lit a candle and set it in the lantern.

“This is nice,” Bull said, stretching out on an Adirondack chair.

“Isn’t it? I try to come out as often as possible in the summer. Or what passes for summer here.” Dorian sipped his tea gingerly.

“You a gardener, then? This looks a little too nice to be a landscaping service.”

“I am now, yes. Funny, when I first got here I hated anything to do with it.” As Dorian heard himself speak, a part of his brain started issuing a warning:  _ danger danger, do NOT talk about your ex for the love of all that's holy. _ “But then - er - I started to enjoy it,” he finished hastily, taking a large gulp of tea and burning his mouth.

Bull gave him a look but didn’t call him on it.  _ Well of course he won’t. He’s polite. Too polite to call attention to your inability to string three sentences together.  _

The crickets chirped for a few moments. Dorian began the slow descent into panic. Should he be talking? Surely. Or not? Dammit, why couldn’t he be one of those people who just effortlessly sank into companionable silence? He used to be able to do that. Back when -

“Dorian,” Bull’s voice cut into his internal monologue. “You okay? You want me to leave?”

“What? What - makes you say that?” Dorian grabbed the tea from the little side table, sloshing it.

“It’s alright, I get it. You don’t have to try to be polite.” Bull had a warm smile on his face. He leaned forward in his chair, as if he was going to get up.

From somewhere in the maelstrom of thoughts racing through Dorian's head, one rose to the top:  _ don’t let him go. Not this one.  _ “I’m not trying to -” 

“Look, I’m sure you have to work in the morning. It’s no big deal. I can get going whenever. Just like hanging out with you, is all. Not trying to - you know.” Bull made a vague hand motion.

“I don’t,” Dorian blurted. “Have to work. Until noon,” he added, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the rhododendron. It would need pruning soon. He should try to remember that. 

Eventually, the silence dragged on until he chanced a look at Bull. The man was staring at him. No - not staring. Studying, more like. As if - as if he was actually concerned. As if he cared. 

Dorian shook the thought from his head. He was seeing things that weren’t there. “I’m sorry, I’ve been a terrible host, apparently. I should know when someone’s trying to make a graceful exit.” He dredged up a smile from somewhere and plastered it on. 

Bull continued to look at him, the furrow between his eyebrows deepening. “How about this. How about we stop playing chicken for a minute. I’m not so great at this part, so. Might be better to just speak plain.”

Anxiety seemed to swallow Dorian whole, followed immediately by despair.  _ The man was trying to leave and you prevented him from putting his pants on and forced tea down his throat.  _ “Of course. I understand.” He nodded, bracing himself, hoping his face was assembled into something approaching wry understanding.

“I kinda want to stay, but I don’t want to be, you know. Creepy or clingy or... I dunno. Weird.” Bull shrugged. “But, you know, I get it. That you probably don’t want me to. It doesn’t hurt my feelings or anything.”

Dorian's brain had gotten stuck on  _ kinda want to stay.  _ “I... I don’t... not... want... that,” he said. “For you to stay.”

One of Bull’s eyebrows shot up. “You  _ don’t not want that? _ Glad I said we should speak plain.”

For some reason the gentle mockery freed the logjam in Dorian's mind. He huffed in annoyance, flouncing back into his chair. “I wasn’t sure I wanted you here all night but now I am and simultaneously I don’t want you to stay longer than you like. Happy?”

It was the slowest smile Dorian had ever seen crawl across someone’s face, but when it was in place, it was all the sweeter for it. “Well okay then,” Bull said. He settled back in his chair, retrieving his mug and taking a sip. “Good tea, by the way.”

Dorian was somehow primed for a different response, so it took him a second to register what Bull had said. “Oh. Ah - thank you. It’s from the shop downtown. Sensibiliteas.” 

Bull frowned at him. “That is  _ terrible.” _

“Well, as puns go -” Dorian said, shrugging.

“No. No that is just... awful.” Bull said. “You want the pun to have a kick. Sensible? What’s that going to get you?” He shook his head, still frowning.

Dorian wasn’t quite sure what was going on, so he sipped his tea. Bull plowed ahead. “I mean of all the possibilities - look, there’s one right there. Possibili-teas.” He looked to Dorian for affirmation.

Hastily, Dorian nodded. “Clearly.”

“Cutie, infinity, naughty - there’s a good one.”

“Quality,” Dorian offered. 

Bull raised his hands in agreement. “Wouldn’t even need letters for that. Just a picture of a koala and a teacup. I mean, it writes itself.” 

Dorian thought the matter dropped, but then Bull suddenly continued. “If they had espresso it could be ‘Hip Tea With Your Best Shot’. Or ‘I Like Big Mugs and I Cannot Lie’. Or... or....” His eye got wide and shining, and he looked at Dorian as if in a trance. “You gotta fight.”

A childhood spent listening to popular music forbidden him by his parents meant that Dorian automatically knew where Bull was going. “No.”

“For your right,” Bull continued.

“Bull, don’t do it. Some things can’t be un-said,” Dorian warned. 

“To PARRRRRR-TEA,” Bull concluded, dissolving into laughter. “Come on, that was a good one.”

Dorian tried to keep a straight face. He really, really did. He hated puns. But Bull’s enthusiasm was so infectious, Dorian found himself grinning. “Is the sweet oblivion of sleep the only way to stop the onslaught? If so I suggest we go back upstairs, before I discover whether Giselle will call the police if I scream loud enough.” He rose and stood next to Bull’s chair, holding his hand out for the now-empty mug.

Bull instead caught his wrist with his free hand. “Hey. Dorian, don’t worry,” he said, suddenly serious, which Dorian didn’t trust a bit. “It’s okay to steep together on your first date.”

Rolling his eyes, Dorian groaned. 

“Can’t we just get oolong?” Bull’s face was a picture of innocence.

Dorian decided to steal a trick from Bull’s playbook. Before the man could spout any more puns, Dorian swooped down and kissed him. And not just some little peck, either. Dorian didn’t want to give Bull the chance to keep punning at him. 

He felt Bull smile against his lips before deepening the kiss. After a moment, he pulled Dorian down, gathering him across his lap. This was much more comfortable, in Dorian's estimation. All thoughts of puns dissipated as he slid his hands up to the back of Bull’s neck. 

It was slow and lazy and indulgent, none of the desperation that they had in the car earlier. Bull cradled Dorian's head and back, making no move to shift his hands or do anything but kiss. 

In a word, it was heavenly. Dorian couldn’t remember the last time he’d just, well...  _ made out.  _ Kissed for the sake of kissing alone, without it being an obligatory thing to be dealt with before sex could be had. Bull was a fantastic kisser, teasing with his tongue and teeth, not too pushy, and yet just pushy enough. And he smelled good, a combination of Dorian's soap, clean skin, musk, and hints of whatever deodorant or cologne clung to the fabric of his t-shirt. 

After what felt like several minutes, Bull jerked back, wincing.

“What? Am I crushing you?” Dorian fretted.

“Nah. Mosquito I think. Got me in the leg.” Bull scratched at one calf with his toes, jiggling Dorian in his lap.

“I suppose we should probably go in,” Dorian sighed. 

Bull hummed in vague agreement, nuzzling the crook of Dorian's neck. “Guess so.”

Dorian squirmed, trying to determine how to best get out of the chair. The way he was curled up provided next-to-no leverage. 

“Hold still,” Bull said, and a second later he simply stood up, holding Dorian in a bridal carry.

“Oh. Oh my,” Dorian breathed. 

“Like that, do you?” Bull’s expression was faintly naughty as he set Dorian down. “Good to know.”

Luckily there were teacups to collect and a candle to extinguish, so Dorian didn’t have to respond directly. They headed inside. 

It was not as awkward as Dorian had anticipated. He had an unused toothbrush in his travel kit, which he gave Bull, shooing him into the bathroom while he got the coffee maker ready for the morning. He tried very hard not to think as he ground the beans and measured the water, hearing Bull clamber around upstairs. He continued not thinking as he brushed his own teeth, taking a quick shower for good measure.

It was impossible to not think when he opened the bathroom door to see a shirtless Bull in his bed, under the covers, hands behind his head to show off those possibly-illegal biceps, and a soft, almost scared smile on his face. 

“Hey,” Bull said.

“Hey.” Dorian couldn’t quite bring himself to step closer, as if it would somehow break the spell. “Do you - need anything? A glass of water, perhaps?”

“Nah. I’m good.”

Nothing for it. Lord, why was this so strange and difficult? He clicked the bathroom light off and made his way to the bed. Bull put out the bedside lamp as Dorian climbed in.

The strangeness and difficulty seemed to decrease the nearer he got to Bull. It helped that the man fairly scooped him into the crook of his arm, like he wanted Dorian close. 

“Comfy?” Bull’s voice rumbled under Dorian's ear.

“Yes,” Dorian answered. “You?”

“Oh yeah.” Bull waited a beat. “You still okay with this?”

Dorian cleared his throat. “I... it’s a little strange. I don’t, ah, do this very often.”  _ Ever. You don’t do this ever.  _

“Yeah, me neither. I mean I’ve had people, you know, kinda pass out on me. But they’re always gone when I get up to take a piss later. This feels like... like a weird sleepover.” 

“I never had sleepovers as a child,” Dorian said. 

“No? Never? We had ‘em all the time. Lotta kids in my house, so I guess my moms figured a couple more wouldn’t make a difference. We’d camp out in the basement with sleeping bags, or in tents in the yard, then make pancakes in the morning.”

“Sounds lovely,” Dorian said, surprised to hear that he meant it. “I’m an only child and - well. Sleepovers weren’t exactly something my parents encouraged.” It had never occurred to him before now that he’d missed out on yet another hallmark of a normal childhood. He wondered if Felix had ever had sleepovers with his other friends. If he had, he’d kept it from Dorian. 

Aware that he’d brought the conversation to a dreary standstill, Dorian rallied. “Did you have many siblings?”

“Sorta. Grew up in foster homes till I was adopted at nine.” There was no trace of discomfort in his tone, but it was also clear that there was perhaps a better time and place to discuss the matter.

So Dorian let it drop, humming in what he hoped was compassionate acknowledgement. Tentatively, he draped his arm across Bull’s chest, scooting a bit closer. Bull shifted to accommodate him, bringing his hand up to stroke Dorian's arm. 

The closeness made Dorian ache, sharp and sudden in his chest. God, it had been so, so long since he’d touched anyone like this. He squirmed, chasing that intimacy almost involuntarily, his body going warm as he nestled against Bull. And somehow there was a gloss of lust that emerged, though with that much skin sliding on skin, perhaps it shouldn’t have been a surprise. 

Bull moved his hand to tip up Dorian's chin, closing the distance so they could kiss again. It felt so natural and good and wholesome - surely, this shouldn’t feel wholesome, not with the way Bull was moving against him, his cock getting hard, pressing against Dorian's leg.

Dorian whimpered. Good lord, Bull must think he was some sort of love-starved fool, the amount of noise he’d made. It’s not like he was celibate, for god’s sake. Dorian just couldn’t seem to help himself. 

Bull broke the kiss. “This okay? We can go to sleep, if you want.” 

“More than okay,” Dorian breathed. “I don’t want to stop.”

“Glad to hear that,” Bull said, the corner of his mouth quirking up briefly. And then he gathered Dorian up, drawing him in for another kiss. 

Unlike the kisses on the patio, this was clearly going somewhere. Bull’s hands were everywhere but Dorian's cock: tickling the nape of Dorian's neck, thrumming against one of his nipples, tugging his hair gently. Dorian was so dizzy from the kisses alone that it took him a while to realize what Bull was doing: cataloging Dorian's reactions, every shiver and twitch and gasp.

And god, Dorian was just  _ lying _ there, not reciprocating at all. He quickly brought his hand down to the waistband of Bull’s boxers. 

Bull hummed against him, before shifting around to lay on top of Dorian. He caught Dorian's wrists in a loose grasp, sliding them up over Dorian's head. “This okay?” He punctuated his question with a roll of his hips, dragging the stiff bulge across Dorian's own erection.

It took Dorian a second to form words from the gasping exhalations. “Y-yes.” 

It was dark, but Dorian could just make out Bull’s smile. He leaned down and brushed his lips against Dorian's ear. “Good. Think you can leave your hands there for me?”

Nodding, Dorian bit his lip against another moan. It wasn’t easy, not with the steady motion of Bull’s hips and the trace of bare teeth along his earlobe.

It didn’t get any easier. Bull slid down his body, nipping and licking and sucking. Dorian choked back a gasp when Bull’s mouth found a nipple.

The sensation was brief -- Bull raised himself to his elbows. “Awfully quiet up there. Everything all right?”

Blinking in confusion, Dorian answered. “Yes - yes it’s good.”

And then Bull was kissing his breath away. Dorian couldn’t help but make a tiny noise this time. 

“There it is,” Bull murmured. “Told you, I like hearing you. Don’t want you holding back. All right?”

Swallowing hard, Dorian found his voice. “I -- I -- oh god yes.” The last few words were a drawn out groan as Bull resumed teasing at his nipples. He hitched his hips up, trying to gain friction on Bull’s chest.

Bull just chuckled into his skin. And then he kissed down Dorian's stomach, pulling at the waistband of his pajama bottoms. Dorian's cock sprang free an inch from Bull’s lips.

“Ohhhh,” Dorian winced as Bull dragged his tongue from base to tip. And then again. And again. 

It felt incredible. Dorian sank into the sensation. Or rather, he wanted to. But after a bit it started to gall, that he was just laying there not doing anything. What could Bull possibly be getting out of this?

He arched his back a bit, hoping that it would put ideas in Bull’s head, motivate him to move on to some activity where Dorian could pull his weight. Though with his hands over his head, there wasn’t that much he could do. Dorian wasn’t sure if he’d be able to enjoy getting fucked again, but if Bull wanted it, he’d certainly try. 

“What’s the matter?” Bull asked, the words spilling out in between licks. “You don’t like it?” He moved his tongue further down, wrapping his lips around one of Dorian's balls and sucking just the tiniest bit.

Dorian moaned in shock, clutching at the headboard. “You don’t... you don’t have to,” he managed to stammer. 

“Yeah but what if I want to?” Bull continued nuzzling and licking. “What if I like making you feel good, hmm?” 

Dorian had been fully prepared to answer, but then Bull put his hands under Dorian's thighs, pushing them back. His tongue slithered down Dorian's perineum and darted out to tease at his entrance.

“Oh  _ fuck,” _ Dorian yelped. “Oh, fuck, Bull - what - you - nnngh.” The nonsense trailed off into a long, lingering whimper as Bull trained the tip of his tongue on Dorian's hole.

“Mmmm, you taste good,” Bull grunted, pushing Dorian's thighs back further. “Gotta get a little more of that.” He grabbed a couple pillows, pausing only to shove them under Dorian's ass. Then he was back at it, humming in apparent satisfaction.

Despite the waves of pleasure that washed over Dorian, he doubted that Bull was really enjoying it. No one really liked doing that, did they? It was something people did in porn, not real life. Worry gnawed at the pit of his stomach that he’d given Bull the impression he needed or expected this, or that he’d be expected to reciprocate.

“Bull - no, please don’t,” Dorian said, trying to shy away.

Bull immediately stopped. He reared up to his knees, holding his hands out. “You all right? Did I hurt you?”

Even in the dim light Dorian could see Bull was still hard, so he must’ve been getting something out of it. “I’m fine,” Dorian said. “I just - you don’t have to do that.”

Bull tilted his head, pausing a beat. “It makes you uncomfortable.” It wasn’t a question. “That’s fine, no problem.”

Dorian squeezed his eyes shut, flinching.  _ Great. Now he probably thinks you’re a prude. You should’ve just let him do it until he got bored.  _ He covered his face with both hands. 

“Hey,” Bull said, rolling to lay next to him. “Talk to me.”

“God, I’ve really ruined things, haven’t I?” Dorian looked up at the ceiling, clucking his tongue. The internal monologue began running a tickertape in the back of his mind:  _ of course you did, I’m surprised it took you this long, this is why you’re alone. _

“Not from where I sit. Can I touch you?” Bull sounded concerned. 

The question was so unexpected that Dorian's self-talk stuttered to a halt. “What?”

“Can I touch you?”

Near-hysterical laughter spilled out of Dorian's mouth. “Whatever for?” By all rights, Bull should be pulling his pants on and making a hasty exit, not... whatever this was.

“You seem upset. Sometimes it helps. Just thought I’d offer.” Bull’s voice was calm and reasonable -- no indication he was losing patience.

Which was baffling, in its own way. Here Dorian was, behaving like a bumpkin who couldn’t handle himself in bed, and Bull was showing him sympathy instead of running for the hills. “Well it certainly couldn’t make things worse, I suppose,” Dorian sighed, wishing that at some point something would start making sense.

Bull carefully reached over and put his hand on Dorian's chest. It was shockingly warm; Dorian didn’t realize how chilled he’d gotten. And then Bull was scooting closer, spooning up to his side. 

That tender ache was back, now nearing physical pain. Combined with the pent-up tension from the sex they’d been about to have, and Dorian felt a too-familiar prickling in his sinuses.

_ Oh god, not now.  _ He took a slow breath for a count of seven, held it for four, then exhaled for eight. 

After three repetitions Dorian was back in control. Bull still lay beside him, not fidgeting or giving any hints that he was growing bored with Dorian's failings. 

“I’m not sure what’s worse,” Dorian offered eventually. “The fact that I ruined things, or the fact that you apparently have  _ so _ much bad sex that this isn’t fazing you in the least.”

Bull laughed a little, but he didn’t drop it. “I’m more concerned that you think asking me to stop doing something qualifies as ‘ruining things’.”

Dorian hummed noncommittally, his mind churning. He wondered how much longer Bull would be content to lay here cuddling. At some point, he’d no doubt either make an excuse to leave or try to finish what they’d started. Dorian wasn’t terribly enthralled by the idea of sex at that point. The question was whether he liked Bull enough to put up with it so that there might be a chance for another date in the future. 

“Hey, you’re doing it again. That whole not-talking thing.” Bull ran his hand in comforting circles on Dorian's stomach.

“I....” Dorian huffed in annoyance. “I just don’t like disappointing people.” 

“Oh, wow, not me, man. I love it. I love just getting right in there and ripping the rug out from someone. The bigger the disappointment, the better, you know? Just gives me such a thrill. Mmm-hmm. Nothin’ like it.”

Under the circumstances, it could perhaps be forgiven that it took Dorian far too long to register the sarcasm in Bull’s delivery, even though the man had heaped it on with a trowel. “You ass,” Dorian laughed, squirming against him.

That resulted in Bull holding him tighter, which was surprisingly comforting, but failed to yield any headway in the sass department. “Know what else I love? Going into kid’s birthday parties and popping all the balloons. Got banned from the Chuck-E-Cheese though.”

Dorian was by now laughing almost uncontrollably, the bed shaking. The jags of laughter seemed to wring out a good deal of the tension from the situation, though fatigue quickly filled the space left behind. Heightened emotions aside, they had enjoyed a large meal and rather strenuous sex earlier. Dorian gave a jaw-cracking yawn. “Sorry. Please do go on about your hobbies.”

This time Bull was the one that squeezed him, huffing a laugh into his shoulder. “You okay? If you don’t think you’ll be able to sleep with me here now, I get it.”

“No, I - I think....” Dorian tried to mask another yawn as a thoughtful sigh. “I think I’m good. Tired. And sorry. About before.”

Bull yawned as well. “Don’t be. I’m serious. We don’t have to talk about it now, but you know... it’s really okay.” He kissed Dorian's temple.

Dorian found himself falling asleep far quicker than he’d anticipated, lulled by the rhythmic breath against his collarbone and the lazy swipes of Bull’s thumb on his arm. His last thought before he drifted off was whether he’d be able to wake first. He did, in fact, make very good pancakes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _you guys I don't even like puns_


	6. Pancakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull stays, then leaves. Dorian does the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated tags! Also, not sure how common the word _hiney_ is. I grew up hearing it as the kid version of "butt" back when "butt" was a slightly naughty word for little kids to say. So - it means butt.

Bull woke up in the dark with an armful of Dorian and a very full bladder. Must’ve been that tea. The patterns of moonlight had shifted, so he’d been asleep a while.

He looked down at Dorian's face. In sleep, he had a softness that Bull had seen hints of earlier. Damn, he was beautiful. Awake, Dorian carried himself with almost too much confidence, using it like a shield. But now, relaxed, he looked like... like a statue, of an old emperor or god or something.

Bull took a deep, careful breath. Dorian might look like a god, but the man had more issues than Life Magazine. And Bull didn’t know if he wanted to deal with that.

The only reason he was still there at all was his own personal campsite rule - i.e. leaving things in better shape than they’d been when he arrived. Clearly Dorian had only the most vague understanding of consent, and next-to-no concept of what constituted a healthy give and take during sex. If Bull had gone home, all those shitty ideas would have been reinforced.

Question was: what was he gonna do in the morning?

Fuck if he knew. There were more immediate concerns, anyhow. He eased himself from under Dorian and headed for the bathroom, hoping that the sound of running water wouldn’t wake Dorian up. Didn’t seem to - he was still conked out when Bull was done. Bull tilted his head as he watched the guy sleep. There was a funny feeling in his chest, almost a pang. Fuck.

Just because Bull had started thinking about maybe settling down a little didn’t mean he wanted a project. And unless Bull’s hunch was way off, Dorian wasn’t just a project, he was a teardown and rebuild.

 _You barely know the guy. Lay off on the assumptions, why don’t you?_ What Bull needed was to stop thinking. And a glass of water wouldn’t hurt either.

He crept out into the hallway and downstairs to the kitchen. On his way, he took stock of the house. Hard to tell from the street, but it was a deceptively large for one person - Bull caught glimpses of at least three bedrooms, two baths, a living room and a den, eat-in kitchen and a dining room. Plus there were stairs to a third floor.

Maybe Dorian hadn’t always lived alone. The place was big, but not lots-of-roommates big. Two, maybe three people, tops. That meant --

 _That means stop fucking worrying about it._ Bull grunted in frustration at himself. It was up to Dorian to tell him about his past. Not for Bull to jump to conclusions based on walking through his house at night.

In the kitchen, he found some glasses that don’t look too fancy and grabbed one. At the last second he grabbed another and filled them both, turning the faucet off with the back of his wrist. He headed back upstairs, walking towards the edge of the hallway to avoid the creaking floorboards.

When he got to the bedroom, Dorian was awake. He was laying on his stomach, his hand outstretched to the space Bull had occupied. Apparently Bull did too good a job of sneaking, because Dorian didn't realize he was there. He sighed and drew his hand across the empty bed, and Bull felt that pang again, only about a hundred times worse.

 _Fuck._ Bull cleared his throat.

Dorian jumped, hissing in surprise.

“Sorry,” Bull murmured. “Guess I wanted that water after all. I, uh, brought one for you.”

“Sweet Maker, you scared me. I thought you’d....” Dorian laughed bitterly. “I thought you left.” He took the glass from Bull and drank, though whether out of thirst or embarrassment wasn’t clear.

“Nah.” Bull set the water down and climbed under the covers. “Can’t get rid of me that easily.” He held his arm out and Dorian slid back to his side. “You good?”

“Yes,” Dorian said. It was supremely unconvincing.

Bull felt the tension in Dorian's body. Shit, he felt the tension in his own body. It was one thing to try to sleep together after their catastrophic attempt to have sex. It was another to try to just sleep.

He should go. Bull knew it. He really, really should make up some bullshit excuse that sounded good and get the hell out. It was just weird, laying there. Way too intimate. He should go.

Bull’s body was, apparently, not receiving signals from his brain, because he did not get up. Not only did he not get up, he nuzzled at Dorian's hair, breathing the scent of expensive shampoo. It was like he was stuck there, trapped by the sensation of just how fucking good it felt to have this warm body curled against him.

Suddenly Dorian roused himself. “I’m sorry, I -” Dorian pushed himself up, turning to look at Bull. He blinked when they made eye contact, as if something about Bull made him lose his train of thought. “I usually listen to music,” he finished, which could or could not have been what he’d intended to say originally. “Er, would you mind, terribly?”

“Nah, that's fine,” Bull agreed.

Dorian fiddled with the clock radio for a moment before laying back down. It was classical piano, something slow and melancholy and just a bit discordant, the quiet sound seeming to reverberate into a much larger space than the bedroom.

Bull tipped his head forward, breathing in the scent of Dorian's hair again. “This Chopin?”

Dorian made a small sound of disagreement. “Erik Satie. One of the Gymnopedies, I think.”

Bull didn’t know what that meant, but he hummed in acknowledgement anyway. The tension trickled out of Dorian, until he was well and truly relaxed, tracing slow circles into Bull’s forearm with his thumb. Bull fell asleep like that. It was probably a mistake, but it felt good.

The sun was up when Dorian slid off the bed the next morning. Couldn’t have been very late though, maybe seven, seven-thirty, Bull guessed. During the night they’d shifted, Bull somehow ending up as the little spoon, which was way more fucking comfortable than it should have been.

He dozed for a few minutes, waiting to see if Dorian was planning to come back to bed. After a while the scent of fresh brewed coffee and the sound of clattering pans in the kitchen were too hard to ignore. Bull got up and went downstairs.

Dorian was, as suspected, puttering around the kitchen. It was hard to tell what he was doing, exactly -- when Bull walked in he was over by the trash can, clutching at a bowl of what looked like flour, muttering to himself. He almost dropped the bowl, yelping in surprise.

“Sorry. Morning.” Bull squinted at the coffee machine, pointing at the mug set out next to it. “This for me?”

It took Dorian almost no time to recover, setting the bowl on the counter and nodding with a wry smile. “Only if you promise not to make any puns.”

“Can’t pun before caffeine,” Bull nodded. “What’re you making?” He sipped his coffee and sighed in contentment.

“Oh. Er. I.” Dorian cleared his throat. He sucked in a deep breath through his nose. “I thought I would make pancakes. You, ah, mentioned something about it.”

Bull stared at him. _He wants to make you fucking pancakes._ The pang was now more of a full-body ache. “I don’t eat a lot of carbs at breakfast,” he began to say.

Immediately, Dorian waved him off, turning back towards the trash can. “Of course! Silly - wasn’t thinking - I’ll just -”

Bull realized what was going on. Dorian had gotten up early to make him pancakes, and was - what, talking himself out of it again? Fuck, this guy was worse at this than Bull was. Bull set his mug down and grabbed the flour out of Dorian's hands, setting it on the counter. He put his hands on Dorian's shoulders, squeezing gently. “Hey. Didn’t let me finish. I was gonna say, maybe if you got a few more eggs, I can make us an omelet while you make the pancakes. Sound good?”

Dorian looked up at him, frowning in confusion. “Oh. Er. I suppose, yes, that's fine.”

Bull’s lips quirked.

“What?” Dorian asked. “What is it?”

“Don’t you mean _egg-cellent?”_

“Oh, for the love of -” Dorian pushed him away. “What happened to no puns before caffeine?”

“There’s an egg-ception to every rule,” Bull snorted.

Grumbling, Dorian rolled his eyes. “If this isn’t the finest omelet I’ve ever eaten there’ll be hell to pay.”

Bull chuckled and planted a quick smooch on Dorian's temple. He yanked the fridge door open while Dorian was still frozen in shock. “Anything in here off limits?”

Dorian grimaced. “There’s not much in there, I’m afraid. I intended to go shopping yesterday, but this man with terrible taste in puns insisted on taking me out to dinner.”

Bull pulled out bags and containers, taking stock of what he had to work with. “Yeah well he has good taste in men, so that's the important thing. Ooh, is this feta? Nice.”

Laughing, Dorian mixed the batter and set it aside. He pulled a griddle and a pan from the cupboard and set them on the stove. “Do you want your pan preheated?”

“Not yet. Don’t wanna get hot too early.” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Ugh,” Dorian groaned, chasing a pat of butter atop the griddle with a spatula.

“That’s not even a pun!”

“Innuendo is just as bad,” Dorian insisted.

“Yeah, yeah.” Bull waved dismissively, mincing some nearly wilted parsley. “Go ahead and _heat my pan,_ then, why don’t you?”

For a few minutes they danced around each other, engrossed in the immediacy of cooking. Dorian was surprisingly capable of staying out of Bull’s way -- no easy task when they were both making fiddly dishes. “You ever work in a kitchen?” Bull asked, scraping the egg down the sides of the pan with a silicone spatula.

Dorian snorted. “My father would’ve rather I stabbed him through the eye with a dull pencil than lower myself to working in a kitchen.” His tone made it clear he didn’t agree with his dear old dad on the issue. “No, I....” He paused and sighed. “Just got used to cooking in cramped conditions, is all.”

That pause. Bull had heard it several times now, and the silence screamed “Ex” loud and clear. Bull knew how to draw Dorian out, get him talking, but he held back. For one thing, Dorian's reticence was a sign he wasn’t ready to talk about it. And for another, the eggs were done.

Bull shimmied the omelet onto a plate just as Dorian pulled the last pancake off the heat.

“Do you prefer syrup or spiced honey?” Dorian asked

“Oooh, did you say spiced honey?” Bull’s gaze went far away.

“My dear man, I _am_ from Tevinter.” Dorian handed the platter of pancakes to Bull to set on the table. “You _do_ like it spicy, yes?”

“Fuck yeah.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He grabbed the jar from the cabinet.

Bull held the container up to his nose, his eye fluttering closed as he inhaled deeply. “Oh, man. Been a long, long time. Damn I love this stuff.”

“Why don’t you make your own? It’s not difficult,” Dorian pointed out. “You’re obviously a talented cook.”

Bull shrugged. “‘Cause I’d have diabetes in like a month. I put that shit on everything. You ever had it on fried chicken?”

“Can’t say I have,” Dorian noted absently.

Bull grasped his hand, hard and dramatic. “Dorian. You _have_ to try it on fried chicken.”

“Am I allowed to eat breakfast first?” Dorian blinked mildly.

“I _guess,”_ Bull sighed.

The pancakes were pretty terrific, especially with the spiced honey. Dorian oohed and ahhed gratifyingly over the omelet -- it was damn tasty, if Bull said so himself.

After a few bites, Dorian looked down at his plate. “So. Bull. I find myself wondering....” He shook his head and laughed helplessly. “Why are you still here?”

Bull had been avoiding asking himself that question since the middle of the night. Because when you ask a question, you get an answer. And he wasn’t sure he was ready for an answer.

He sure as shit wasn’t ready for the dozens that surged forth, all demanding to be given voice: _you’re hot as fuck; making you laugh feels fantastic; you made me tea and pancakes; wanna see you come again and again and again; this feels different and dangerous and I want more._ It was the last one that made Bull the most nervous.

Time to deflect. “You worried I’m casing the joint? Anyway, I could just as easily ask you why you haven’t kicked me out.” Bull countered.

Dorian stared at him, his face expressionless. It went on just a beat or two long, so that when he finally spoke, it was startling. “When one entertains suitors at my age, one finds that the question is not _if_ the other shoe is going to drop, but _when._ I will admit that after the pleasantries are exchanged I often take both shoes and throw them out the door, save myself the bother of waiting. Rarely, I let the other shoe drop when it may, though whether out of curiosity or self-flagellation at this point is perhaps a debate for another time.” He gave a tight, tired smile that didn’t reach his eyes, then turned his head to look out the window. “I find I am unable to altogether rid myself of foolish hope, despite everything.”

The formality of the language might’ve been meant to buffer the sentiment or obscure it, hard to say. But even with all the fancy words, the emotion behind the confession was raw, a poorly-healed wound. Lotta people had scars like that, and the fact that Dorian had chosen to reveal his, even with the fancy speech, took a fuckload of courage.

Dorian didn’t shift his gaze from the window, but his forehead creased, like he was pissed at himself for saying anything. His posture had been ramrod straight while he spoke, but he slumped in the shoulders once he finished.

Bull wanted to kiss him. Or maybe hug him for like an hour, or fuck him slow and gentle till he couldn’t remember what disappointment felt like. “Think you kinda answered your own question,” Bull said.

Dorian's frown deepened and he turned back to his plate. “Oh?” It was a defeated, dismissive sound. “How’s that?”

“That was a pretty fucking brave thing to say. Kinda got a thing for bravery,” Bull shrugged.

Dorian's head jerked up, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Do you?”

Bull shrugged again, letting a smile slink across his face.

From the counter in the kitchen, Dorian's phone beeped and buzzed at the same time. “What the devil - who texts at eight in the morning?” Dorian's face scrunched at the interruption.

“Better check,” Bull advised.

Dorian stood and retrieved the phone. He wiped at the phone angrily, then gave a very unimpressed snort. “It’s Isabela. She wants to know how my date went.” Dorian shook his head as he tapped out a reply.

“What’re you telling her?” Bull’s grin widened.

“That I’ll be sure to let her know once it’s concluded.” Dorian said with a wicked grin. He set the phone back down.

“Not kicking me out, then?”

Dorian glanced at the clock, his grin settling into a smirk. “I’ve got about two hours before I need to get ready for class. And since you’ve got a thing for courage, I might as well show a little more.” He straddled Bull’s lap with the grace of a dancer, settling his weight across Bull’s thighs. He smelled like spicy honey and dark coffee, toothpaste and skin.

“Ooh, I like it.” Bull let his hands fall to Dorian's hips. “Nice to be on this side of things.”

Dorian threw back his head and laughed. “You can’t honestly tell me a man of your size gave out lap dances?”

“Well I didn’t actually sit down,” Bull clarified. “I didn’t touch people at all if I could help it. Not like this,” he said, running his hands up and down Dorian's fucking spectacular thighs. “This, I like.”

“Good,” Dorian said, leaning closer. He didn’t go for Bull’s lips, but his neck, nuzzling at Bull as he rolled his hips, pressing a little closer.

On the table, Bull’s phone dinged. “Probably Bela,” he chuckled. “So nosy.”

“Mmm, well let her stew for a bit longer, won’t you?” Dorian murmured the words into Bull’s ear, ghosting his lips over the skin.

“Fuck yes,” Bull answered, his voice a little raspy.

The phone dinged again, and Bull growled in annoyance, the sounds turning to a groan when Dorian nipped at him.

When it dinged a third time, then began ringing, Bull froze. No one called him except his boys. “Hold up,” he said, slapping blindly at the table. “I gotta take this.”

Dorian immediately slipped from his lap, looking worried.

Bull tapped the screen. “What?”

“Chief.” It was Krem’s voice. “Chief, Skinner’s in a bad way.”

Bull was already on his feet, heading upstairs to get the rest of his clothes, Dorian following behind. “How bad?”

“She’ll be fine. Dalish is with her.”

“You didn’t answer my question, Krem,” Bull warned. He had the phone jammed into the crook of his neck as he jammed shoes on his feet.

Krem sighed. “We went for drinks last night and she got cornered by a couple of guys when she went outside for a smoke. Didn’t take kindly to the attention.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand, Bull fought the urge to break things. “I imagine not. Cops?”

“Nah. She fucked them up pretty bad, but they’ll live. Bloody noses and black eyes, mostly. We got out of there, but she had a pretty bad episode once she got back to her place. She’s sleeping now, though. I told Dalish to get some rest too.”

Bull grunted. “Good. I take it you’re calling because no one’s at the shop.”

“Bingo,” Krem said. “Rocky’s out of town and I’ve got my dad to look after until noon.”

“Alright. I’m on my way. Let me know if anything changes.”

“Will do, Chief.”

Bull sighed and set the phone down. Dorian was watching him, his expression a mix of concern and alarm and something else that Bull didn’t have time to parse. “Sorry,” Bull said, standing up. “I gotta go.”

“Obviously,” Dorian said, the corner of his mouth hitching into a resigned smile.

“There’s no one to handle the delivery,” Bull explained. “Not good to piss the truck drivers off.”

“I understand,” Dorian nodded. Bull had to hand it to him, he did a good job keeping the disappointment out of his voice. Bull could barely hear it.

At the front door, Bull turned. “Hey. Maybe we can do something later in the week?”

“Sure,” Dorian said, in that way that people do when they haven’t made up their mind yet. “Text me.”

“You got it.” Bull leaned down and kissed him. There was a little of that desperation in Dorian's kiss, the same as last night in the car. Somewhere in the dim recesses of Bull’s mind an alarm went off, but he ignored it, hurrying out to his car. It wasn’t until an hour later, while he was packing the crate of tomatoes in the walk-in, that the thought wormed its way back into his consciousness.

Shit. It hadn’t felt like a goodbye kiss. It felt like a _last_ kiss.

***

Dorian idly picked up the plates of half-eaten breakfast. The sudden calm after the flurry of activity made the house seem very quiet. The sound of the knife scraping the pancakes and eggs into the trash was painfully loud, as was the clatter as he dumped the plates into the sink.

 _You have no reason to think he was lying,_ Dorian reminded himself. _You know what lying feels like. This isn’t it._

The problem was, there was lying, and there was also hiding behind the truth. Dorian hadn’t heard the other half of the conversation. All he knew was that someone hadn’t shown up for work that morning, and that Bull was concerned about a delivery. The perfect excuse to leave in a hurry.

Desperately, he lobbed evidence at the shadowy doubt lurking inside him. _He stayed when he didn’t have to. He seemed to have a good time. He brought you flowers._

Doubt, as usual, operated on an a priori basis. It batted away each of Dorian's so-called truths the way a cat knocks things off a table: because it can. _He only wanted more sex. He could have been pretending. He knew how easily you’d fall for his bullshit and sleep with him._

This was, of course, entirely missing the brunt of the matter. The torpid lump of anxiety shook itself awake and reared up like an angry bear, flooding his mind with the one argument Dorian had been trying not to think about.

_Maybe he does like you. Maybe he likes you enough to call it a relationship. But he just proved that work comes first and it always will. And you’ll put up with it, because you’re fucking pathetic._

Playing second fiddle to someone else’s career was all too familiar. At least he knew what he was getting into. God, how often had Dorian waited up for Rilienus, or had their plans canceled at the last minute, or not been able to make any plans at all, or...

Dorian leaned over the counter, scraping his hands through his hair. He could practically hear his therapist Wynne telling him not to get dragged into the spiral of anxiety. To redirect while he still had control.

He half-heartedly took a deep breath, and then another. Dorian almost managed it, but the smell of pancakes and spiced honey hung heavy in the air. What the hell had he been thinking, making pancakes? All it took was one throwaway mention of them and Dorian was hopping into action, eager to please, like a goddamned puppy.

Dorian had woken up feeling fantastic. He’d practically skipped down the stairs that morning. Bull had stayed. He’d _stayed,_ even when it was clear Dorian didn’t expect it. Bull had said something about pancakes, so Dorian immediately set about mixing the batter from scratch. Wet ingredients in one bowl, dry in another. Just like Rilienus had showed him.

It was as he was sifting the flour and sugar and baking powder together that it hit him, what he was doing. As if Bull’s affection could be bought, with pancakes no less. The selfsame pancakes he’d made every Sunday for Rilienus. Dorian had made them the day Rilienus had left, in fact. As if griddle cakes were all it took to convince him Dorian was worthy.

 _It didn’t work then, and yet here you are, trying again. Pathetic._ The thought had slammed into him like a bus. He’d tried to throw away the ingredients before Bull got up, but then he was caught red-handed.

Going back over the morning's events spiked his anxiety further. “Shit.” Dorian ran his hands through his hair again, tugging hard enough to sting, trying desperately not to think about it.

He was losing control, and he knew it. Breathing only gets one so far. Dorian was well acquainted with the many flavors his anxiety came in. This particular attack wouldn’t be crippling, but left unchecked he’d be miserable and unproductive for the rest of the day. Right now he needed to get out of his own head. He couldn’t go for a run, not with a heavy breakfast in his stomach. And he certainly couldn’t stay at home, not with the smell of pancakes in the kitchen and Bull in his bed. That left one good option. “Bach it is.”

He almost certainly should shower, but fuck it. He dashed upstairs, throwing on whatever clothes were most handy in the closet, and drove to his office. Now that he had a plan to deal with the anxiety, it was held in check, at least for the moment.

Dorian unlocked the door to his office and flipped on the lights. Automatically he reached for his cell phone to mute it. His pocket was empty - he’d left without it. All the better. Less temptation for him to check his texts all day, waiting for a message from Bull that was probably not going to arrive.

The cello was in the corner, where it always was. The sheet music for the Bach Suite No. 1 was on the top of the stack, also its customary location on his bookshelf. Not that he needed it. He’d long since memorized the piece. But there was a deep and abiding comfort in flipping the pages and seeing his mentor Alexius’ handwritten notes for bowing and phrasing, the fading pencil marks a reminder of simpler times.

As always, he skipped the first three movements, diving straight into the Sarabande. If Dorian had any say in the matter, it was the first thing he played when he picked up his instrument for the day. At this point, the movement was essentially a meditation. Every time he played it, he found some nuance that was previously unexplored, some hidden aspect to be unlocked and treasured.

Four and a half minutes later, Dorian was breathing easier, his mind clear. Thoughts of last night and the morning were easy to compartmentalize. It was only a date, albeit a very long one. The man had an emergency and had to leave. Simple. Dorian had other things to worry about. It wasn’t enough to make the doubt disappear, but it was at least manageable now. He riffled through the sheets on the music stand and pulled the Khatchaturian to the front. The staff recital was only a few weeks away, and the runs weren’t going to learn themselves.

After practice, the afternoon passed as Tuesdays normally did -- class, lunch, lessons, class, and band rehearsal. The lack of phone was a blessing - he actually managed to forget all about Bull for entire minutes at a time.

What was odd was that Isabela showed up with Hawke for band rehearsal. Usually she steered clear of campus -- too stuffy, something about books getting her into trouble. But here she was, stomping down the hallway at him.

“What’s gotten into you?” Dorian asked, one eyebrow cocked.

“What the fuck, Dorian? You’ve been ignoring my texts all day! I was worried!” She prodded him in the chest.

A few students began to stare. Rolling his eyes, Dorian pulled her into his office. “I’m not ignoring you, I merely forgot my phone at home, which is not a crime. Last I checked -” here he picked up the handset to his desk phone, “- yes, still in working order, if you so drastically needed to get in touch with me. And I’d appreciate it if you could at least _pretend_ to act like an adult while I’m working.”

Isabela narrowed her eyes. “You forgot your phone?” Her voice dripped with skepticism.

“Yes,” Dorian insisted. “I... left in a hurry, if you must know. And if you’ll excuse me, I have to conduct now, because I’m _working at my job,_ in case you’d forgotten.” He swept past her, not waiting for a reply.

Hawke was leaning on the wall in the hallway and fell in step with Dorian. “I told her not to come, you know,” he said, shrugging.

“Is this where I grumble ‘women’ and throw up my hands?” Dorian huffed. “My my, never thought I’d live to see the day.” He pulled the door to the rehearsal room open and held his hand out for Hawke to enter.

Rehearsal was very nearly a disaster. Dorian had forgotten that Kyle had withdrawn for the semester; without him the percussion section was completely lost. And of course there were his own personal issues, lurking just under his consciousness. The last text Dorian had gotten from Isabela was about Bull. Clearly she was upset Dorian never got back to her, but for it to cross the line into actual anger on her part was somewhat surprising. Still, Dorian managed to make it through the two hours without actually murdering the woodwinds for not practicing the Grainger, _again._

When Dorian got home, his first order of business was to check his phone. It had, in popular parlance, _blown up._ It took him a moment to triage all the notifications. His attention was drawn to three texts from Bull. After a moment to fully regret looking at them first, Dorian tapped the screen to open the message thread.

_Hey sorry for running out. Wasn’t just the delivery - employee had to defend herself from 3 a-holes last night and got in a bad way. I got worried. Should’ve explained. Sorry. Maybe I can make it up to you? I bring fried chicken, you bring spicy hiney?_

_GOD DAMMIT AUTOCORRECT HONEY. H O N E Y._

There was a three-hour delay before the next text. _Ok I get it. Sorry. You change your mind, lemme know._

The rest of the notifications were from Isabela, first teasing him for ‘holding out’ on details, and later excoriating him for his silence. And more tellingly, for his lack of response to Bull. Which meant Bull had told her, at least on some level, that Dorian wasn’t responding to his texts.

It was not the least surprising that Isabela had tried to weasel gossip from Bull. Dorian chewed his lip, wondering how much Bull had told her. He didn’t seem the type to betray Dorian's confidence. Not that there was much confidence to betray, but Dorian didn’t much like the idea of Bull laughing with Isabela over the fact that he’d freaked out mid-rimjob.

Dorian stared at his phone a long while, debating how to respond. Finally he slapped the blasted thing down. He needed a drink.

It seemed like a bourbon kind of night. There wasn’t very much left in the bottle of Basil Hayden, which was probably good. Bourbon tended to get a little more-ish, and he didn’t need the temptation right now. He dumped a couple of fingers into a tumbler and headed into his study.

It was the one room downstairs where he hadn’t gotten tangled up with Bull in some manner or other and was therefore neutral ground. Difficult to make decisions when the memory of Bull’s weight pressing him against the counter or the heat of him under Dorian on the couch or how perfectly they fit together in the dining chair or -

Dorian growled at himself under his breath and took a sip. _Focus, Pavus. What are your options?_

That was easy. He could ignore Bull or respond. He followed the first line of thought. Ignoring him would be incredibly rude, but within the realm of understandable human behavior. It meant that he’d not have to worry about further entanglements, for good or ill.

Dorian set that particular tangle of decisions aside for the moment. On to option two. He could respond. That meant he could definitively end the association (oh how his stomach clenched on _that_ thought) or leave things open for further dates in the future.

Now it was impossible to ignore the big question: is that what he _wanted?_

The memory of Bull moaning into his mouth came sharp and unbidden, setting off a bomb of hot lust in his groin. Alright, yes. Yes, he wanted that. But was it good for him?

Just as quickly, the sour disappointment of the morning’s proceedings rose in the back of his throat. But how much of that was Bull’s fault, versus old war wounds courtesy of Rilienus? Surely it was okay to give Bull a second chance? According to his text, one of his employees had been attacked. It wasn’t just a matter of ‘work coming first’. And anyway, there was no indication that Bull wanted things to get serious. It was just a date.

Dorian stared down at his glass. _He could be lying. You could be grasping at straws, looking for an excuse to do something that's only going to end up with you hurt. Again._

Pushing away from the desk, Dorian strode into the kitchen and retrieved his phone. After another second of hesitation, and a slightly larger gulp of bourbon, he tapped out a reply. _I’m glad to know you don’t plan to rub greasy poultry on my ass._

There. Done. Dorian turned back to the study when his phone pinged. _I mean if that's what you’re into...._

A snort of laughter came bubbling out of Dorian's mouth before he could help it. _Neither pillows nor poultry, thank you very much. Is your employee well? Sorry for the delay, I left my phone at home._

_She’ll be okay. Long day for you, eh?_

_Glad to hear it. And yes. And shouldn’t you be making pizza? Don’t let me distract you._

_Went home early -- dead at the restaurant._ And a moment later, another text came through: _Also you are VERY distracting. Been thinking about you all day._

Dorian stared at the phone, weighing his response. He hadn’t been thinking of Bull all day, but only through a Herculean effort to distract himself. _Is that so?_

_Oh yeah. ;) Maybe I can tell you about it sometime._

That was definitely an invitation of sorts. Dorian chewed his lip again. He probably shouldn’t encourage Bull. It had been a long day and he was starving. He still didn’t know exactly what he wanted or whether this was a good idea at all. Which is why he found himself typing: _What did you have in mind?_

His phone pinged as he walked into the kitchen. _I got lots of ideas. I could tell you now, text every last filthy thought I had today, every time I got half hard remembering last night. Or I could tell you in person sometime. Whisper it nice and low in your ear, see where that takes us._

“Oh, fuck,” Dorian whispered. God, he wanted both those things, right fucking now. He pressed the heel of his palm against his dick, biting his lower lip. “You’ve had a long day, you’re starving, and not in the best mindset.” Saying it out loud was supposed to help.

He swallowed the dregs of his drink and set the glass down. _While the former is tempting, I’m not sure ‘exhausted and shaking from hunger’ is the best state for coherent sexting. Perhaps the latter would be best. I’d hate for another hiney/honey incident because my fingers are unsteady._

There was no immediate reply. It figured. There was a slight sting of disappointment that Bull apparently was more interested in sex than banter, but that meant Dorian was back on familiar ground at least. He’d probably been reading too much into things anyway.

Dorian surveyed the state of his kitchen and groaned. It was pointless to even think about cobbling together a proper meal. He stood in front of his pantry, debating the merits of peanut butter toast versus ordering food in. But delivery involved the risk that he’d just stare at menus for an hour, too hunger-addled to make a decision. Plus there was the inevitable delay before the food arrived. “Peanut butter toast it shall be, then,” he murmured.

The only bread he had left were the dried-out heels, but it was fine. The phone dinged as he was polishing off the first slice. He hastily wiped his hands on a tea towel and checked it.

It was a reply from Bull. _OK NGL I debated offering to bring you food vs. just showing up with food vs. not being a creepy fucker that's all up in your space after one date. Just so you know._

There was a funny feeling in Dorian's chest, a kind of excitement that seemed to vibrate gently. Was Bull for real? Who does that kind of thing?

Dorian's hand paused over the phone. He caught a glimpse of the tulips Bull had brought him yesterday. God, maybe....

He couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought. He was no longer in the grip of anxiety, so the idea was now at least feasible. But somehow saying the words ‘maybe Bull wants more than sex’, even in his head, would jinx the whole thing. Still, he needed to respond, lest Bull come to the conclusion that Dorian did indeed think he was creepy.  

 _Is that your thing, then? Feeding people? ;) Anyway I’m already eating._ He took a picture of the remains of his toast and sent it out.

He ate the rest and wiped the crumbs from his hands by the time the reply came in. _Nah. Into smart and sexy people who make me laugh. Like I met this one guy and we went out last night. Had a great dinner, fucking AMAZING in bed holy SHIT and he made me pancakes. I’m hoping maybe we can go out again soon._

The quivering excitement spiked, and Dorian couldn’t seem to stop smiling. When he typed his response, his fingers were shaking, but not from hunger. _I’m sure he’d love that. You should text him when you’re available._

_I will. Have a good night._

_You too._

Still smiling, Dorian filled the sink with soapy water, intending to make at least a dent in the mess. He was up to his elbows in soap suds when his phone dinged again, and then proceeded to blip several times in quick succession. It was apparently done having a stroke by the time he’d dried his hands sufficiently to activate the screen. He had an alarming nine texts from Bull.

_(also, sorry I raided your fridge and left you with toast for dinner. You shoulda hit that with the spicy hiney.)_

_GOD FUCKING DAMMIT_

_HONEY_

_H_

_O_

_N_

_E_

_Y_

_...... good night._


	7. Coffee and Leftovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian gossips with Isabela. Bull gets distracted at work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more gratuitous texting and puns! hurray!

“Wait, you what? Made ‘im pancakes?” Sera dissolved into a fit of giggles.

While Dorian rolled his eyes, Isabela was kind enough to throw at napkin at Sera in his defense. “I think it’s sweet.”

“Thank you, Isabela,” Dorian sniffed. After the events of a few days ago had shaken out, Isabela had offered to buy him a cup of coffee and a scone, to make up for her accosting him at work. They were at their normal coffee shop, a shabby place called The Clinic. It wasn’t exactly nice - the linoleum floor was worn almost through, the tables wobbled, and the bathroom had a hole cut in the sheetrock so that the pipes wouldn’t freeze. It was run by a left-leaning man named Anders, who, if you made the mistake of bringing up labor rights, would talk your ear off for hours and foist his manifesto on you. But it was close to campus, the coffee was good, and the scones were phenomenal, thanks in large part to Dagna. 

Sera caught the napkin in midair, lunging for the wisp of paper. Another customer, clearly not a regular, stood at the bank of brewed coffees, tipping one of the airpots to get the last little bit out. “Excuse me, you’re out of -”

“Shut it,” Sera waved the napkin at him without turning her head. “Busy.” She put one foot up on the empty chair. “So did he like ‘em? Your  _ pancakes?”  _

“I’ll have you know my pancakes are a delight,” Dorian said, his voice haughty. 

“Mmm, I know Bull’s are,” Isabela sighed, her eyes faraway.

“What, he made you pancakes?” Sera scrunched her nose up.

“Are we still talking about breakfast foods or did I miss a memo?” Dorian frowned. He didn’t particularly want to think about Isabela’s previous encounters with Bull. Not that he was upset or jealous, of course. He just preferred not to think too closely on the details. 

Dagna poked her head up from where she was loading a bakery case. “Did you let the batter rest?”

“I did,” Dorian noted. Trust good old Dagna to ignore things like subtext. 

“It activates the leaveners. Very important step,” she explained. “Sera, I gotta head in the back for a bit, ‘kay? Cookies are done in three and a half minutes.”

“All  _ right,”  _ Sera protested, heaving her body back behind the counter, grabbing the empty coffee pot along the way.

“I knew you’d get along,” Isabela winked. “Bull’s quite a guy.”

“He is that,” Dorian nodded. “Did I tell you he brought me flowers?”

“What?” Isabela spluttered the coffee she’d been about to sip. “Are you joking?”

“Of course I’m not. A dozen pink tulips.” 

Isabela was looking at him as though he had lobsters crawling out of his ears. “Really?”

Huffing, Dorian pulled out his phone and swiped to the Instagram shot he’d taken yesterday morning. Isabela peered at it. “Is that Crema?”

“Rise,” Dorian corrected. “Crema washed them out too much. Anyway, we went to the Winter Palace, and -”

“Shut up.” Isabela slapped the table, which wobbled a frightening amount. “He took you out to dinner? At the Winter Palace?”

Dorian looked around as if he’d been trapped in some foreign dimension. “I do believe dinner at a restaurant is considered an acceptable romantic outing.”

“Yes but -”  Isabela boggled, at a loss for words. “Bull doesn’t  _ do _ those things. He’s not a flowers-and-dinner guy. He doesn’t do  _ romance.” _ She said it like it was common knowledge. “He’s a takeout-and-fuck-you-against-the-wall guy.”

The delicate bubble of hope that Dorian had been nurturing for three days was crushed under the words. Something must’ve shown on Dorian's face, because Isabela began to take back what she’d said. “I mean, people can change, though. He obviously thinks you’re worth it, right? That's a good sign!” 

Her enthusiasm was bright and brittle and just made everything worse. Dorian sighed and gave her a tight smile. “Yes, well. It was fun.” He drank the rest of his coffee in one gulp and began to stand up.

“Wait, no,” Isabela grabbed his wrist. “Come on, I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing for me to say. Don’t go. You haven’t even touched your scone,” she pointed out.

Sighing, Dorian sat back down. “No, I’m the one that's sorry. I’m overreacting. I just... you ever have one of those feelings that something’s too good to be true?”

“Every time I look at Hawke,” she said. 

“Yes, well, in my case it’s usually a harbinger of doom.” Dorian broke a corner off his scone and nibbled at it. “I need more coffee,” he said, looking into his empty cup. “Excuse me.”

He fetched a refill, which took a minute because the cream was empty. He didn’t bother asking Sera to fill it and instead grabbed the carton from the cooler on the end of the counter. When he turned back to the table, Isabela’s thumbs were flying across her phone. She stowed the device as soon as she realized he was looking.

“Isabela, are you making things worse?”

“Just checking the weather,” she lied.

Dorian rolled his eyes and sat. “As much as I appreciate the effort, I’d like to ruin this on my own, without any assistance from you.” 

“Don’t worry, sweet thing. Now. You’re going to see him again, right?” She changed the subject with absolutely no subtlety.

“In theory, yes. Although I think the ball’s rather in my court to make a suggestion, and I’m coming up blank, I’m afraid. Aside from spiced honey and rimming I’m not sure what he enjoys.”

Isabela didn’t just splutter this time, she did an honest-to-goodness spit take, thankfully aimed away from the table. “What?” she laughed.  Sera chucked a damp rag at her head; Isabela caught it and began cleaning up the mess.

“You heard me,” Dorian raised an eyebrow. Served her right. “Anyway I was thinking of asking whether he’d want to go to the Redoubt on Sunday. He seems to know a thing or two about jazz.”

“Ooh, that's a good idea,” Isabela cooed. “Dark and smoky jazz bar -”

“Hardly smoky,” Dorian protested.

She ignored him, caught up in her fantasy. “- All lovey dovey in the back corner, hands wandering where no one can see -”

“I say, that's quite sufficient, thank you.” Dorian frowned. 

“Nice private alley out back,” she winked.

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Not that you would know.”

“I like jazz.” Her tone was far too defensive for the statement to be true. 

“You like musicians,” Dorian pointed out. 

“And jazzers are the sexiest musicians,” she said. “They get so  _ into  _ it. Even if it sounds like they’re strangling cats, I can still appreciate the effort involved.”

“Well it won’t sound like cats on Sunday. That's the night Genitivi plays. There’s cool jazz, but the man’s an iceberg. He’s got to be pushing eighty -- I’m not sure how he still holds the guitar. But that means we’ll be able to talk, anyway. Perfect background noise. The most lively thing on his set list is  _ Girl from Ipanema.”  _

Isabela didn’t look convinced, but she shrugged. “Well, sweet thing, I have to go. Text me as soon as you’re done  _ making pancakes  _ on Monday morning.” She elbowed him as she rose, then fluffed her hair and sauntered out.

Dorian decided to take advantage of the slight spike in confidence that he’d gotten from speaking to Isabela and pulled out his phone to text Bull.  _ what time are you done on Sunday? I was thinking Therinfal Redoubt for jazz and drinks. _

He didn’t get a reply until he was back in his office: 9 _ :00 at the latest. Haven’t been to the Redoubt in years. Genitivi still there? _

_ Amazingly, yes. Don’t worry, I’ll be there to keep you awake with witty repartee. _

_ ;) trust me, you don’t need to be talking to keep my attention.  _

Dorian gave a throaty chuckle when he saw that.  _ I thought you liked it when I talked?  _

_ I like you all of the time. But yeah. There’s a couple things I wouldn’t mind hearing. Specially if I’m the one giving you reasons to say them. _

The fluttering in Dorian's stomach had little to do with lust and everything to do with ‘I like you all of the time’.  _ Well then. Meet there at 9? In the meantime I’ll brush up on my vocabulary.  _

_ Can’t wait.  _

***

“Behind!” Rocky called out as he scooted around Bull. The ‘because you’re in my fucking way’ was silent.

Bull grunted and moved off the line. They were in the middle of prep for the Thursday dinner rush, so it was steady busy, as opposed to ‘hand you your ass in a bucket’ busy. Still, Bull realized he was zoning out, otherwise he would’ve shifted to let Rocky through automatically. If his brain was that mushy, he needed a break. He was only picking spinach stems anyway, nothing crucial.

He went out back. He’d quit smoking ages ago, but the habit of taking his breaks outside had stayed with him. Bull sat on the rickety bench outside the kitchen door. Damn, he hadn’t gotten that distracted at work in a long time. Contrary to popular belief, Bull could manage not to think about sex for whole minutes at a stretch. 

This wasn’t about sex, though. This was about that funny ache in his chest. This was about the fact that right at that very second, his fingers were itching to pull out his phone and find some excuse to text Dorian, just to hear from him. This was about the red flags that were flapping wildly around the whole thing, and the fact that Bull wanted to ignore them and barrel full steam ahead. 

It wasn’t that Bull was against having sex with someone who had issues. Hell, everyone had issues. Maybe it was his protective nature, the side of himself that had him helping his mothers out with the posse of younger foster kids. He had a natural talent for sensing when someone needed space, or a hug, or something to do, or an ear. 

Bull resolutely did  _ not _ think about how he’d been forced to use those abilities in Seheron.

So yeah, he liked people who had a couple scars and weren’t afraid to show ‘em. They were his people. Like his boys at the restaurant, or his old dancing crew. It was the ones that pretended they were above it all, free from blemish, healthy and whole in every way, that made him nervous.

Still. There were scars that healed clean, and there were wounds that had festered. Some of the things Dorian had said and done seemed more the second category than the first. 

A wave of that urge to soothe washed over Bull, but now it was mixed with the other thing, that ache, and damn. He barely knew the guy, and here Bull was, wanting to take away all his pain, to make him happy. And that was dangerous.

_ You can’t help everyone, _ he reminded himself.  _ Everyone has pain. Everyone is unhappy sometimes.  _

The door opened. Krem stepped out, pulling one of those e-cigarettes from his pocket. Bull privately thought they were gross, but hey. Quitting is quitting, even if it took a while.

“Chief,” Krem nodded, squinting up into the sky. There was a long pause as he blew clouds of vapor into the air. “You thinking about your pretty ‘Vint?” He didn’t turn to look at Bull, but there was a hint of a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye.

“Not my ‘Vint,” Bull said.  _ Not yet anyway.  _ He flinched at the thought, trying to turn the expression into a squint. He was already so far gone. “Why, you jealous?”

Krem snorted and took another drag. “Not even a little. Just never seen you go all calf-eyed like this. If Stitches picked spinach that slow you’d be on his ass in a minute.”

“Not calf-eyed,” Bull shook his head. “Just getting old, Krem Puff. Getting old.”

“Bullshit. You’re not even forty.”

“Will be next month.” Something he’d been trying not to think about.

Krem scoffed. “Just a number, Chief.”

“Yeah. Guess you’re right. Anyway, I gotta get back in there and finish with that damn spinach. The kitchen manager here’s a real hardass.”

“That’s why you pay me,” Krem grinned, putting his cigarette away. “That or you’re paying me to put up with your atrocious puns.” He yanked the door open, heat and kitchen smells wafting out.

“What, do they  _ kremp  _ your style?”

“Ugh, how long’ve you been waiting to use that one?” 

“These things can’t be rushed, Krem.”

Bull managed to keep it together through dinner. Once it started slowing down, his eye was on the clock. It was a little before ten, and the tickets had slowed to a trickle. Unless they got slammed with late delivery orders, he could probably head out without causing a landslide. “You need me anymore?” he called to Krem.

Krem grinned, shaking his head knowingly. “Hoping to catch your pretty ‘Vint before he gets his beauty rest?” 

“Maybe,” Bull leered. He was known for cutting out early for the odd booty call, so it’s not like he could pretend complete innocence. Let them believe he was just after a piece. After a second Bull realized that everyone in the kitchen was staring at him. “What?” Maybe his leer wasn’t as leer-y as it should have been.

Krem looked significantly at Rocky, and Dalish snorted and tried to pretend it was a cough. “You’ve got puppy dog eyes, Chief.”

Bull scowled. “I do not have fucking puppy dog eyes.”

“You looked like that animated Disney cat,” Rocky insisted.

“I think that's Pixar,” Dalish corrected him.

“Whatever.”

“Anyway,” Bull cut in. “I’m getting out of here. And just for the record you can’t have puppy dog eyes when you’ve only got one eyeball.”

“Pssh, whatever you say, Chief,” Krem rolled his eyes.

Bull threw up his hands and stormed out, mostly for effect. Once he got out to his car, he started to worry. Fuck, maybe he shouldn’t text Dorian? Maybe he should cool it a little?

He wasn’t much one for this take-it-slow, romantic thing. There was protocol, he knew. He managed the dinner and flowers part pretty easy, though he hadn't expected to enjoy it half as much as he did. Bull wasn’t sure how much of that had to do with the actual activities or the way Dorian's face had lit up over the course of the evening. Every time he’d smiled Bull had gotten this gooey feeling in his stomach, and he kinda liked it.

He kinda liked it a whole fucking lot.

It was the nuances Bull didn’t have any experience with. Dorian had made it clear he was a veteran of this particular war. Normally Bull wouldn’t even bother with subtlety - he’d just lay it on the line, let Dorian know what he was looking for. Even if that were the right thing to do -- Bull was pretty sure it wasn’t -- it required Bull to figure out what he actually wanted. Shit, what  _ did  _ he want?

The sound of a horn jolted Bull’s attention back to his drive home. The light was green, so he gave an apologetic wave to the car behind him and moved his ass through the intersection. It wasn’t like Bull had never fallen for someone before. It had just been a long time, is all. And he’d certainly never acted on it. Seheron wasn’t the best place for that shit. 

Once he’d gotten out of the service, well, just the freedom to have some damned fun had been enough. Bull had quickly discovered that taking a genuine interest in someone else’s pleasure provided a connection that was intense in its own right. And that was plenty for him. Wasn’t that he was avoiding it, exactly.

Bull ignored the fact that he was keeping the definition of “it” vague, even in his own mind. 

He pulled into the parking area, largely empty at this time of night. Haven hadn’t escaped the craze to convert industrial buildings into funky studios and shit. This particular one was carved into spaces for artists and shops. It was in a rough part of town, which kept rents low. The owner had been concerned about security, so when he was converting the place, he got the City Board to approve a single living unit. Bull was, of course, the perfect tenant. No one dreamed of causing shit with an ex-military Qunari in the building. 

He took a minute in his car, trying to gather his thoughts. After a bit he gave up and went inside. By the time he’d climbed the three flights of stairs, he was even more out of it, tripping on the top step. Bull caught himself on the railing. “Stupid,” he muttered to himself. 

Once in his apartment, he stripped out of his chef coat and checks, chucking them into a pile by the door with the rest. In his boxers and t-shirt, he grabbed a beer from the fridge and plopped on the couch. “Fuuuuck,” he sighed, wiping at his face. The urge to text Dorian was incredibly strong. What the hell was wrong with him?  _ You already texted today once. Give the guy some damn room.  _

He clicked on the TV, hoping for a distraction. It was tuned to the Food Network; it was  _ always  _ tuned to the Food Network, unless he had the boys over to watch a game. Chopped was on, a repeat, so he heaved himself off the couch to raid the fridge. There were some curried lentils in there, and some greek yogurt. He scooped a big spoonful of each into a bowl and stirred it up, then added some hot sauce.

Food and TV were only semi-successful in distracting him. Finally he gave up and picked up his phone. He tried three times to write something that sounded casual. Everything came out too suggestive, though. Probably on account of the way his eye kept wandering to the picture of Dorian's lips, from that selfie he’d sent on Monday. Fuck, Bull wanted to see them wrapped around his cock again.

Grunting in frustration, Bull finally settled on  _ So what’s a good way to ask what you’re doing that doesn’t seem like I’m trying to start something or sound creepy? _

There was no immediate reply. Fuck, what if he was already in bed? That’d be a stupid thing to wake up to.  _ Fuck,  _ what if he was with someone else? Not that Bull would mind, they’d only been on one date and he was fine with things being open. It was more the risk that the text would sound even more desperate and weird in that context. He imagined Dorian checking his phone at the bar while some hot young guy was in the bathroom taking a piss. Or worse, Dorian checking his phone while the hot young guy was in  _ his  _ bathroom, cleaning up after they’d just fucked. 

That line of thought led temptingly down a path of imagining Dorian in bed after sex, and then also during sex. His cock thought this was a fantastic thing to think about. Groaning, he slumped back on his couch. How the fuck do people do this?

His phone buzzed. Bull scrabbled in the couch cushions to retrieve it.

_ You’re very concerned with being creepy for a man who’s been the picture of good manners. Do I really seem so delicate?  _

Bull was still trying to decide how to respond when the next text came in a moment later:  _ In answer to your question, I’m using a digital audio-visual interface to challenge my hand-eye coordination skills.  _

That also took a second to parse, but then Bull burst out laughing, almost toppling the bowl of lentils.  _ You’re playing video games?  _

The response was a picture of Dorian's television, which had some brightly-colored digital landscape on it, along with the text  _ Fight me. :) _

Crafting a response was harder than Bull expected.  _ Holy shit that's awesome  _ made it sound like  Bull was surprised that Dorian would be that cool, so nope.  _ God dammit everything I learn about you makes me want you more _ was also out for obvious reasons. So he settled for  _ nice :) and no way I’m fighting you. I suck at video games. I’ll just watch. _

On the TV screen, the contestant with the mohawk (there was always one with a mohawk) ran out of time and slopped a shit-ton of sauce onto one plate but missed the other three. “Ooh, that's you done, buddy-boy,” Bull said.

Dorian's response came through.  _ You like to hear me talk, you like to watch... anything else I should know? ;) _

Bull sucked a huge breath in his nose and held it for a second. Damn. He hadn’t meant for things to go there. After that text on Tuesday about being too hungry to flirt, Bull wasn’t sure if Dorian was into that kind of thing, and he wasn’t about to push.  _ I like a lot of things. I could tell you, or we could wait till Sunday, and I could show you. _

That wasn’t weird, right? Shit, this was so much fucking harder than he expected.

Dorian's reply came back pretty quick.  _ I can think of many more options. Both, for example. _

Bull’s mind chose that moment to go blank. A total, utter lack of words. His thumbs hovered over the screen until another notification popped up from Dorian.  _ Or perhaps I could tell you what I like. If you’re interested. _

That jolted Bull’s brain into action.  _ Oh I’m interested. Shit yeah.  _

_ I must say this is the first time I’ve tried this with someone who uses proper grammar. Nothing wilts a dick like seeing the letter “u” as a pronoun. _

Bull burst out laughing again.  _ THAT'S what you like? Grammar?  _

_ I see you’ve never used a dating app. Trust me, its a thing.  _ And a second later:  _ *it’s _

Bull was laughing way too hard. He was supposed to be sexting, not giggling.  _ Gud 2 kno _

_ AUGH. DON’T EVEN JOKE ABOUT THAT _

_ Okay professor _

_ I’m not very good at this, am I? Sorry.  _

Bull was still smiling. He typed  _ I dunno, I’m having a good time  _ and sent it before he could think about it too much.

_ Are you? Shall I add ‘awkward texting’ to the list, then?  _

_ You should add ‘you’ to the list.  _ Bull stared at the text for a long minute. Fuck, he had it bad. He erased the words and wrote  _ I guess so :)  _ instead. He pressed the send arrow and hung his head in defeat. When did he become such a fucking coward? 

_ Ok so for you I’ve got hiney/honey, watching someone else play video games, puns, and awkward sexting. _

_ You’re killing me with this list. And you missed one.  _

_ What’s that? _

Bull’s mouth went dry. “Just say it, asshole,” he growled at himself.  _ You.  _ Send.

His heart took a slow ride down through his chest, stomach, and was damn near his feet when Dorian replied.  _ You have a habit of rendering me speechless. It’s very rude.  _

Bull didn’t pray, but if he did he’d be praying he hadn’t fucked this up.  _ I’m hoping rude is on your list.  _

_ Since you didn’t say ‘ur list’ I think we’re good. I’m looking forward to Sunday. Have a good night, Bull. _

Breathing a little easier, Bull tapped out his response.  _ Me too. Have a good night. _


	8. Cupcake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull runs into Dorian AND gets a pink cupcake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to AnnSabine for beta-ing this for me!

Saturday morning there was a lot more noise in the street outside Bull’s window than usual. Fuck, he’d forgotten there was a craft show this weekend. He groaned and sat up, wiping the grit from his eye. The crowd noise, he could sleep through. The terrible folk duo singing Peter Paul and Mary songs, he could not. 

Normally, he didn’t mind. There were only two of these shindigs a year - one a month before Satinalia, and this one, a couple weeks before some made-up Ferelden holiday where people bought presents for their mothers. Or was it fathers? Bull didn’t really give a crap, honestly. 

Today, though, he was tired, even though he’d overslept a couple hours. Damn, he really was getting old. He’d gone out for drinks with the boys after their shift ended. He thought he’d done a good job, that he hadn’t gone particularly crazy. Just a couple pints. Then the hazy memory of tiny little glasses filled with some fruity liquor floated into his memory banks. Oh, right. The shots.

Bull hauled himself from bed and stumbled to the bathroom. He was almost awake a few minutes later, when he threw a half dozen slices of bacon into a skillet. Bacon was definitely a requirement. 

The bacon, the shower, two pints of water, and a cup of impossibly strong coffee took the edge off. A couple ibuprofen and time would take care of the rest. He had a little over an hour and a half to get into work, so there was no rush.

He headed out to the fire escape with his coffee, still in his sweatpants and t-shirt. There were tents set up all over the Factory lawn, and a juggler was entertaining some kids over by the bake sale table. Nice. If they’d skipped the music act, it would’ve been a perfect morning.

No such luck. The musicians had moved on to Joni Mitchell. The woman was warbling, flitting all around, but never landing on, the right pitch. And the guy was strumming his guitar, wheezing in and out of a harmonica without any sense of rhythm. Bull winced. It was fucking painful. 

Bull surveyed the crowd. No one seemed to be paying any attention to the musical atrocity going down right in front of them, but then again, people were by and large too polite. Except there was one figure standing a couple yards away, glaring at the musicians, arms crossed as if personally offended. 

Bull’s brain short-circuited, acting without thought. “Dorian!” Bull shouted, waving his whole arm. “Hey! Hey, up here!”

Dorian looked up, shading his eyes. Even at a distance, the delight in his smile made Bull a little giddy. “Hello! Fancy meeting you here!”

“Stay there, I’ll come down!” Bull called out. 

Once back inside, Bull realized a bunch of things at once. First, his apartment was a fucking mess. It smelled like bacon and dirty laundry, and there was crap all over the place. It wasn’t that he was a slob, exactly. He was hyper aware of keeping the kitchen clean in terms of food safety, and the sink and toilet and tub were always spotless. But he was a bit lax in terms of which possessions went where. And dusting. And sweeping.

Second, he had almost no clean clothes. He’d intended to do laundry this morning, but there wasn’t time now. Shit. He scrabbled through the clothes that were still hanging from chairs or hooks, rather than the ones already tossed on the floor. There was a slightly nicer t-shirt and a pair of hiking shorts that didn’t seem too terrible. He tossed them in his dryer with a clean washcloth dampened with water and a dryer sheet, then ran to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Fuck, he needed to shave. The beard was one thing but his head was stubbly, the definitely-not-receding-no-matter-what-Krem-said hairline showing. Well that's what hats were for.

He pulled on the freshened clothes from the dryer, jammed a hat on his head, and ran out. 

By the time he jogged through the tents to Dorian, the man looked like he couldn’t decide whether to vomit or commit felony assault on the sound system. “I hope you realize how much agony I’ve gone through for you, waiting here.” Dorian was squinting, the expression tightening to a grimace as the musicians tried and failed to achieve the same harmony as Simon and Garfunkel.

“Sorry,” Bull grinned. He stepped a little closer, then faltered. Normally he’d go in for a hug, but Dorian's body language was pretty closed off. He couldn’t tell if it was just part of the joke about the music or if he really didn’t want a hug. “Nice to see you, though.”

Dorian smiled. “It is, rather. I was going to stroll a bit...?” He waved vaguely in the direction that led away from the music.

“Sure,” Bull nodded. “Let’s go.” 

They sauntered away as quickly as the definition would allow. Bull veered toward the bake sale table, his eye caught by some cupcakes. “Ooh, those look good,” he said, leaning over the display. “You want one?”

Dorian laughed and shook his head. “I already indulged, I’m afraid. The scones are deadly.”

“Hey!” The diminutive brunette behind the table frowned and put her hands on her hips. She looked vaguely familiar, but Bull couldn’t place her.

“Dagna, you know I love you and your criminally buttery scones.” Dorian batted his eyelashes. “Do you know Bull?”

“The pizza guy!” Her voice was a little awed, which was both creepy and cute. Dagna wiped her hand on her apron and offered it. “Do you really have a coal-fired oven?”

“Uh, yeah.” Bull laughed. 

Dagna began peppering him with a volley of highly technical questions about baking, none of which he could answer. Not that he got the chance - she didn’t actually pause for breath.

A blond woman with choppy hair wandered up. “Let ‘im get in a word, Wittle.” She bumped her hip into Dagna. “I’m Sera. You’re the one that's got ‘im all calf-eyed, then.” She nodded at Dorian with her chin.

“Oh for the love of -” Dorian rolled his eyes and sighed. “Thank you, Sera. I can ruin my dates on my own, no help from you.”

Suddenly Bull recognized the women from Dorian's hallway, the first night he’d delivered a pizza. He laughed and elbowed Dorian. “See, no, that's funny. Calf-eyed, get it? Bull? Calf? Eh, eh?”

Sera blinked, then threw back her head and laughed. “Oh right! Ha!” 

Dorian looked heavenward, throwing up his hands a little. “How did I get myself into this?” 

It was pretty fucking cute. Bull didn’t even think before reaching out to rub Dorian's back.

The man instantly froze in place, his smile crumbling. Dorian recovered fast, the smile re-asserting itself, though it didn’t reach his eyes, which were now firmly focused on the cookies rather than his friends. 

Fuck. Bull dropped his hand casually, like he hadn’t noticed anything, and turned to Dagna. “I’ll take a pink one,” he said, pointing at a cupcake, still smiling. “And you should stop by sometime and see the ovens. Grim’ll give you a tour.” 

“Really? Oh awesome. And the cupcake’s on the house. Anyone that Dorian made pancakes for is -”

“Yes well we have to be going,” Dorian said loudly, pulling Bull away.

“Thanks!” Bull called over his shoulder, raising the cupcake in salute. 

It became clear after a moment that Dorian didn't have a plan in terms of where he was going. They ended up around the corner at the loading docks, which were deserted. “Oh,” he said, looking around in confusion.

“Anywhere out of earshot of the Folksy Twins back there is good by me.” Bull hopped up to sit on the edge of the loading dock. He pointed at the bag Dorian was holding. “So, what’d you get?”

“Oh!” Dorian pulled out a parcel loosely wrapped in tissue paper. He pulled the paper away to reveal... something ceramic. Something ceramic and really, really ugly.

“Uh,” Bull frowned, scratching his head.

“It’s a chicken. Well, it’s a water pitcher in the shape of a chicken. From Antiva. An Antivan chicken pitcher.” Dorian regarded it, tilting it from side to side. “It’s for my friend Felix, back in Tevinter. I send him chickens, he sends me pigs.”

“Oh,” Bull nodded. “It’s, uh...” He took another bite of cupcake to buy some time.

“It’s literally the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen,” Dorian noted calmly. “Felix is going to loathe it. I can’t wait to send it to him.”

Bull raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t know passive-aggressive gift-giving was a thing.”

“Oh, it’s all the rage in Tevinter. I have a basement full of pigs. Horrible things.”

Bull laughed. It was exactly the kind of thing he’d pull with Krem, one of those long pranks that just keeps getting more and more ridiculous till the original impetus behind the joke is forgotten. “Well. Okay then.” He finished off the cupcake in one bite, then brushed the crumbs from his hands. “Hey, uh, sorry. For before. I shouldn’t have touched you without asking first.”

Dorian looked up at him, and then his line of sight faded to somewhere in the middle distance. “No, it’s.... It’s fine. I just didn’t think you’d....” He shrugged.

It was clear the conversation was veering into territory Dorian found uncomfortable, but what wasn’t obvious was  _ why. _ And  _ why  _ tended to be one of those important things to know. So Bull pressed him on it. “Didn’t think I’d what?” He kept his voice light, hopping off the ledge.

Dorian huffed in annoyance, playing it up. “I don’t know. Be... affectionate,” he concluded. “Not like that.”

“Does it bother you? I mean I know we only went on one date.” 

“I... well, that is... no, it doesn’t bother me.” The last few words were mumbled, Dorian looking up at the sky.

“Okay, but do you  _ like  _ it?” Bull laughed. “I’m a pretty touchy feely person, but I know there’s a big difference between being sort-of-okay with something and actually enjoying it.”

Dorian rubbed his eyes with one hand. “You know,” he said finally, “for someone who, according to Isabela, ‘doesn’t do romance’, you’re disarmingly considerate.” Dorian sounded aggravated, like Bull had put a spoon back in the sugar bowl after stirring his coffee. 

“Am I?” Bull looked around, as if there were some source of corroboration to be found in the empty parking area. “Didn’t realize asking people what they like was that big a deal.”

“Well, it is,” Dorian huffed, putting one hand on his hip. “There’s a rhythm to these things. You can’t just go  _ baring your soul _ right from the start. You have to  _ ease  _ into it. Be agreeable. Not too dangerous. If you charge right in, guns a-blazing with consideration and confidence and  _ naked affection _ you’ll scare a person off.” His eyes were flashing with humor as he finished his tirade.

“We talking dating or taming lions, here?” Bull grinned.

“The two activities are remarkably similar,” Dorian insisted.

Bull couldn’t contain his laugh, which bubbled out. He tried to camouflage it as a cough. “So I’m doing it wrong, that what you’re saying?”

“Yes. Precisely,” Dorian sniffed.

“Okay,” Bull said, playing along. “So... I’m supposed to guess what you like, is that it?”

When he asked the question, Dorian's gaze shifted away, and suddenly Bull understood what was happening. Fuck, the guy was good at deflection. That whole outburst had been his attempt to move the conversation away from whether Dorian liked affection or not. Which meant he either liked it, or...

“Do... you... know?” Bull frowned. “Whether you like it.” 

Dorian's jaw clenched and he took a deep breath, still looking somewhere over Bull’s shoulder. His eyes glanced to Bull’s and then down. “Of course I do,” he muttered. “That doesn’t mean I’m used to it.”

A wave of guilt crashed into Bull. Fuck, he shouldn’t have pushed so hard. “Shit. Shit, I’m sorry. I just - shit.” 

The crease between Dorian's eyebrows was a pretty good indication that he was still upset. “Yes, well, go ahead, have a good laugh at my naivete.” He waved one hand in a flippant gesture.

“Hey, man, there’s shit I’ve never done,” Bull protested. He was bluffing, stalling; Dorian was gonna see right through it.

Sure enough, he snorted in derision. “Really. Like what.”

Bull had a sudden thought, which had the distinct advantage of being true. “Hold out your hand.”

Huffing in annoyance, Dorian complied. Bull took Dorian's right hand in his left. “Okay now hold still.” He turned, so that he was no longer facing Dorian, but at his side. “Okay just -” Bull said, interlacing their fingers. Realization was starting to creep over Dorian's face. “And, there.” Bull lowered their hands by their sides.

“You’ve never held hands with someone?” Dorian sounded skeptical.

“Oh, well, yeah. Like, you know, wounded buddies in the army,” Bull said. “That was more of a thing to keep them, uh, alive.”

Dorian stared down at their hands. He was still frowning a little. “Oh.”

Bull took stock of where he was at. “It’s kinda nice, actually.” He swung their hands a little bit. “Huh.”

“It is rather pleasant,” Dorian agreed.

“So. Uh....” Bull racked his brain for something to say. He usually didn’t have trouble, but a large part of his mind was busy cataloguing how good it felt to have Dorian's fingers intertwined with his own.

“Well this isn’t going to work very well if it robs you of higher brain function,” Dorian noted, letting go of Bull’s hand. “Plus we probably look like idiots just standing here.”

“Oh, right.” Bull looked around the deserted loading area. “Sorry folks!” he called out, holding his other hand up to his mouth. “Hate to bother you with looking stupid!”

Dorian smacked his stomach with the back of his hand, but he was grinning. It was a reluctant smile, but Bull would take it. “What am I going to do with you?”

“I thought you had a list going?” Bull feigned confusion.

“Oh right,” Dorian nodded, smirking. He tugged his shirt hem to straighten it. “Anyway. I shan’t keep you. I’m sure you have things to do.” The practiced, mannered phrases fell easily from his mouth.

“Trying to get rid of me, huh?” Bull heaved an overwrought sigh. “Yeah, I see how it is. And here I was about to ask if you wanted to see my roof garden.” 

Dorian looked at him in surprise.  _ “Your _ roof garden? You  _ live _ here?”

Bull’s stomach dropped a couple feet at the shocked tone, hoping that Dorian wasn’t as big of a snob as he sounded. “Er, yeah. I got a loft.” He pointed at the window on the top floor corner. “Keep an eye on the place, that sort of thing. I mean it’s not much, but the price is right, and I like it.” He shrugged, trying not to make the gesture seem too defensive.

“How fascinating,” Dorian exclaimed. “Do you know what an industrial loft goes for in Minrathous? They’re in high demand, let me tell you. Always thought I’d live in one, not some bungalow with rhododendrons.” 

Seemed like he meant it; Bull relaxed. “I like your house,” Bull said. “It’s cozy. Anyway, you got a minute, I can show you the roof.” In point of fact he was simply trying to keep Dorian from angling for a look at his apartment.  

“That sounds delightful,” Dorian said.

Bull led him inside, up the back staircase that provided roof access. He unlocked the door and held it wide. “After you.”

Once they’d emerged from the rickety stairwell, Dorian gasped. “Bull, this is incredible.”

“Nah,” Bull demurred. “One of Bela’s friends works at Thrynn’s Nursery. She saves the plants they throw out at the end of the summer. Most of ‘em are half-dead, but you can nurse ‘em back pretty easy.”

“Wait, are you talking about Merrill? The little chirpy one with green eyes? She never gives me free plants!” Dorian pouted.

“Oh, you just gotta lay on the charm,” Bull said expansively. “Honest, I think she’s so happy someone is bringing them back to life that she’d probably do it even if I was a dick. Also you gotta ask when Thrynn’s not around.”

“Mmm, I’ll keep that in mind. Good lord, look at that Miscanthus, it’s enormous!” Dorian darted over to an ornamental grass in a whiskey barrel. Then his attention was caught by a Columbine just starting to flower. And then some Lady’s Mantle. He skittered from plant to plant like an overexcited bee.

It was a good look, Bull decided. Kinda like how Dorian had been at the Winter Palace, only more joyful. Bull found he was smiling, and there was that pang in his chest, almost so much he couldn’t breathe. Suddenly he really wanted to kiss Dorian.

So he reached out to catch the man as he was spinning from one plant to the next. The inertia was enough to draw him close to Bull, almost like they were dancing. “Kinda want to kiss you. That alright?”

Dorian's eyes were so bright. “More than alright.”

Bull took it slow. Partly because it was the right thing to do, partly because he really just wanted a kiss and not to start something, and partly so he could savor it. 

Dorian's lips were a thing to be savored, Bull decided. A lotta guys were all tongue, all the time, but Dorian was all about the lips. He tasted, he sucked, he brushed them so delicately against Bull that it felt like a whisper. 

Bull was still gripping Dorian's wrist, their hands captured between their chests. Dorian made a little noise of discontent, maneuvering his hand around so that their fingers were laced together. He settled back into the kiss. 

Damn, it was just so fucking good. Bull wasn’t used to people being content with kissing like this. Usually they were just biding their time until Bull fucked them. And the pressure of Dorian's hand in his made the moment all the sweeter. Bull brought his other hand up to cradle the back of Dorian's neck, tickling along his neckline.

Dorian gasped against Bull, strong enough that it actually took some of the breath from Bull’s mouth. His eyes flew open and his body tensed. A fraction of a second later he practically purred, sagging against Bull a little bit. 

Apparently that was a thing for Dorian, Bull realized. He hadn’t meant for this to get too carried away, but it was hard not to get into it, especially with the small moans of pleasure that kept coming from Dorian. 

Bull pulled away fractionally. “Guess I better add that to your list, huh?” He scraped his fingernails on Dorian's scalp.

“Mmph - I... oh sweet Maker that feels good.” Dorian's eyes fluttered closed as he let the weight of his head press into Bull’s fingers.

It was easy enough to free his other hand and bring it up to give Dorian a scalp massage, then work his fingertips down Dorian's neck to his shoulders, effectively shifting the tone of the moment from sexual to sensual. 

“Can you do that for perhaps, oh, the rest of my life?” Dorian pleaded. “I have a medical necessity.”

Bull hummed in acknowledgment. “That so? Sure you don’t need a doctor?”

“Mmm, no. Just you.” Dorian was still kind of blissed out, probably responding on auto-pilot. Definitely he didn’t mean  _ I just need you.  _

So why was Bull’s heart skipping a damn beat?

Bull didn’t respond directly. “Kinda need these hands to work later. Sorry.”

“Pssh. Nonsense.”

Bull slid his hands down Dorian's shoulders. “You make a compelling argument, but Krem’ll kill me if I leave him high and dry on a Saturday.”

Dorian opened his eyes for the specific purpose of rolling them, it seemed. “Well I  _ suppose, _ if the well-being of a fellow Tevinter is at stake.”

“I’m sure he’ll be touched,” Bull smirked. 

“Well this has already been a delightful day, and it’s...” Dorian checked his watch. “Not even noon.”

“Shit,” Bull winced. “I really gotta get going. Gotta be at work at twelve-thirty.”

Dorian sighed, then put a smile on his face that was almost genuine. “Of course. I understand.”

Bull felt the moment snag on some unseen jagged edge, a pull of friction that wasn’t there before. Like Dorian was reacting to something else. Bull’s immediate inclination was to apologize for the hurt, even though he was pretty sure he hadn’t caused it. 

But Bull sure as shit wasn’t gonna apologize for having to go to work.  _ This is why you shouldn’t get involved.  _ The thought was an unwelcome intrusion. Too late, he realized that he must’ve frowned or something -- Dorian looked scared and hopeless. 

Shit. If this... whatever it was... was gonna work, Bull needed to figure this crap out. But that meant taking some time, and he didn’t have much to spare at the moment. “Yeah, well, it sucks. Don’t wanna go, to be honest. My day’s only gonna go downhill from here.” He brought one of his hands up to the crook of Dorian's neck, swiping gently at the skin below Dorian's ear with his thumb. 

“Oh? That cupcake was the highlight of your day?” Dorian's tone was mocking, trying to cover up the emotion Bull had seen flash across his face a moment ago. 

“Mmm,” Bull chewed his lip. “If I say ‘not even close’, you gonna yell at me again?” He leaned down a little closer, halfway to a kiss.

Dorian's eyes went wide. The hopeless fear was gone, and though he wasn’t smiling, his face had a softness that was just as beautiful. “Perhaps I can make an exception.”

The corner of Bull’s mouth quirked up. “Good.” He closed the distance for another kiss. One thing was for sure: Bull was  _ definitely _ gonna be late for work. 


	9. Redoubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull and Dorian go on date #2.

There were many reasons why it made sense for Dorian to walk to the Redoubt to meet Bull on Sunday evening. It was a fine night; the walk was only fifteen minutes; they would be drinking; it was good for the environment. All perfectly valid reasons.

The fact that it would help relax his buzzing nerves was beside the point.

He shouldn’t be nervous. Really, it was ridiculous. He’d been dating on and off for years now. It might have been exciting at first, but years of disappointment had ground down his enthusiasm for the process. Dating had become something closer to a job interview, only with the prospect of mediocre sex at the end. Why should this be any different?

_ You know why.  _ The unwelcome thought was accompanied by a flood of sense memory of their kiss on the roof yesterday: slow and sweet and against all odds,  _ sincere. _

He walked faster, willing himself to think about something else. If he thought about it, then that meant he would have to admit how badly he craved that connection, how utterly fascinating and considerate Bull seemed to be, how  _ of course _ he was nervous because this felt entirely too real and huge and dangerous. None of which were even remotely useful thoughts to have. It was just a date. He was going to be charming, have a few drinks, and see if Bull couldn’t be convinced to take it somewhere more private. Nothing at all to be nervous about.

When Dorian walked up to the entrance to the bar, something seemed off. The door was open to let in the night air; nothing strange about that. The unusual part was the veritable throng of people hanging about, far too young and hip to be Genitivi’s target demographic. A moment later a jangle of a saxophone riff came blaring through the door. Whoever was in there was definitely  _ not _ Genitivi.

Dorian weaved his way through the crowd and entered. After a moment to let his eyes adjust to the light, he took in a four piece group on the tiny performance stage. It was led by an unfamiliar musician, a dark skinned man with high cheekbones who clearly knew his way around the sax. 

The interior filled up quickly now that the apparent set break was over. Dorian elbowed his way to the bar. “Fenris, what happened to Genitivi?”

Fenris shrugged laconically. “Sick. Your usual?”

Dorian nodded. By now he was used to the bartender’s habit of hoarding his words like a miser. When he first started coming to this bar, he was relatively sure that Fenris hated him. He was uniformly unfriendly - it was his  _ thing  _ \- but for Dorian that cool demeanor had bled over to active vitriol. It was only through a long campaign that included liberal doses of charm and high tips that managed to crack the shell.

Fenris set down the pint of lager. Dorian made a hand motion indicating he wanted to start a tab, then made his way to the back of the room.

Despite the crowd, the high top in the corner was vacant.  That was no huge surprise. It had a terrible view of the stage - the piano blocked everything but the drums - and it was by the kitchen door. Dorian liked it, though. He was always mildly put out when it was occupied. Once settled in, he checked his phone. It was ten to nine. There was a text from Bull, saying he was on his way. Dorian replied  _ back corner table ;)  _ and set the device on the table to listen.

Whoever this musician was, he was excellent. Excellent and very, very loud.  _ So much for quiet conversations.  _ Still, when they launched into Fables of Faubus, Dorian found himself smiling. Not a tune Genitivi would ever attempt. 

They were just finishing when Bull walked over the threshold, hesitating as he peered into the gloom. Dorian was about to wave him over, when the saxophonist grabbed the microphone. “Iron Fucking Bull! Get the hell over here!”

“Barris?” Bull shaded his eye with his hand. “Shit, man, how the hell are you? You back in town?” The mob parted like water for Bull as he made his way to the stage. Dorian couldn’t help but notice just how many appreciative glances Bull garnered and ignored.

Barris was grinning ear to ear. “Nah, just here for a few days for a wedding. Thought I’d pick up a fill-in gig while I was here.”

“Dorian!” Bull called, waving him over. “C’mere.”

Flushing under the attention, Dorian made his way to the stage. Bull held out his hand and pulled him in by the shoulder, holding him close. “Dorian, this is my old buddy Barris. We used to play together. Way back in the day.”

“Hey old man, not that far back,” Barris laughed and held out his hand. “Delrin Barris.”

“Dorian Pavus.”

Barris’ smile faded and his brows knit together in confusion. He looked briefly at Bull for confirmation. “ _ The _ Dorian Pavus? The cellist?”

Dorian hadn’t been recognized in a very long time. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to vomit or kiss the man. Probably both. “Just a teacher now, I’m afraid.”

“I saw this kid play when I was in college, abroad in Antiva,” Barris explained to Bull, slapping Dorian on his free shoulder. “You were, like, twelve or something. Fucking incredible, man! Never heard anything like it.”

The impasse was starting to come down harder on the side of ‘vomit’. Before Dorian could respond, Bull squeezed him tighter and changed the subject. “We can catch up after your set.”

“You gonna sit in? C’mon, it’ll be like old times.”

“I dunno. Been a long time since I got behind a kit.”

“Psssh. Don’t gimme that crap.” Barris waved them off with a wink.

They made their way back to the table. “Gonna grab a drink - you good for now?” Bull pointed at Dorian's mostly-full glass. 

“I’m good.” Dorian sipped his beer. He watched idly as Bull leaned over the bar to shake Fenris’ hand. The dour bartender was smiling -  _ smiling! - _ at Bull. He pulled a draft, chatting all the while. Fenris said more words to Bull in a few moments than he’d said to Dorian in the past five years.

And then another patron made his way up to Bull, pulling a cute and somewhat starry-eyed date behind him. There was another brief conversation, all smiles and handshakes and hugs as the man introduced the girl to Bull. When Bull finally turned to make his way back to their table, he had to stop and hug an older woman in the corner who’d been angling to get his attention for several minutes.

“Sorry,” Bull said, sliding into the stool next to Dorian. “Got a little sidetracked.”

“It’s fine. Rather like going on a date with the mayor, but fine.” Dorian smirked as he surveyed the crowd. In truth, it was rather strange. Perhaps it was only because Barris had recognized him earlier, but suddenly Dorian was reminded of the days when he would be the one everyone wanted to greet. Those days were long gone, of course, but nostalgia was a powerful force.

Dorian realized Bull was studying him closely. “What?”

“Do you miss it? Getting noticed?”

Sweet Maker but the man was perceptive. Dorian carefully set the beer on a coaster, dragging his finger through the ring of moisture on the wood tabletop. “Not exactly. And it wasn’t like this,” Dorian said, waving vaguely at the room. “Not all friendly, like you.”

“I am friendly,” Bull agreed. “Also I haven’t been here in a long time. So there’s more old friends to catch up.”

Dorian hummed in agreement. Barris and his trio were starting their set, so there wasn’t much opportunity for conversation. As Dorian had feared, they were just a hair too loud to speak over comfortably.

This, however, had some unforeseen perks. For example, Bull attempted to make some comment on the music. Dorian was forced to gesture that he couldn’t hear, which meant that Bull leaned close to mention he thought the piano solo was particularly good. The best part was, he didn’t exactly lean away again, leaving his arm draped over the back of Dorian's barstool.

This level of casual intimacy was doing more to make Dorian dizzy than the beer. Once Bull got up for refills, Dorian realized he’d inadvertently been leaning towards Bull. He hastily corrected his posture to something approaching upright when Bull was at the bar. 

Bull, however, was having none of it. When he got back, he set the drinks down, then swiveled the stool even closer to Dorian, close enough so that Dorian could feel the heat coming from Bull’s chest and arm. It was a strange sensation, sitting there. It wasn’t like Dorian was against affection in public, but usually that affection took place much much later at night in much much darker corners when everyone was much much more drunk. 

“This all right?” Bull asked between one tune and the next.

Dorian didn’t trust himself to answer verbally, so he nodded, turning to the side to catch Bull’s gaze.

“Did I tell you, you look fantastic tonight?” Bull’s lips actually grazed Dorian's ear.

Dorian shivered. “I... don’t believe you did, no,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Mmm, it’s true. And you smell soooo good.” Bull nuzzled his nose just behind Dorian's ear.

Dorian froze. No one seemed to be looking at them, but still, he felt exposed. Bull wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary, he reminded himself.  _ This is exactly what you always wanted. Try to fucking relax and enjoy it, for once. _

“You got all tense,” Bull said in a normal tone of voice, as the next tune ended. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

Dorian took a deep breath. “No! No, it’s just... old habits. If we were in Tevinter, someone would be escorting us out right now.”

“Oh, shit. Right. Damn, I’m sorry,” Bull said. 

“Don’t be,” Dorian said. “It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t be so sensitive. I’ve been living here long enough, after all.”

“Dunno, a lifetime of getting that crap hammered into you takes a toll,” Bull tilted his head away. “And anyway -”

Barris’ voice boomed over the microphone. “Bull! Bull stop pawing your boy toy and get your ass up here.”

The interruption made Dorian jump, though this time he was able to laugh it off. Bull, meanwhile, smiled warmly at Barris, but held up his forefinger to buy some time. He turned back to Dorian, lifting his chin with his thumb. “Hey. Hey, you okay?”

“You’re in high demand,” Dorian laughed shakily. “Go on. I’m a musician - I know how this goes. He’s just going to pester you till you sit in.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” 

“Yes, yes. I mean it. I’m fine. Go. I want to hear you play.” Dorian meant it. He did want to hear Bull play, and truth be told, he needed a minute to pull himself together. 

Bull grinned at him and stood to sporadic and somewhat confused applause. As he made his way to the stage and began to settle behind the drumkit, Barris was on the microphone, bantering to cover the pause in the proceedings. “So I’d like to introduce a very old friend of mine... used to be known as the Iron Bull... and if you know him by that name... you probably had a great night at least once in your life.” 

“Fuck you!” Bull called out happily, shifting the seat and tapping the bass drum pedal tentatively. The crowd laughed.

“But what you might not know... is that the Iron Bull... is pretty good with another set of sticks. Played together for, what, three years?”

“Something like that,” Bull said, testing the snare and tom. 

“Until he decided to open himself a restaurant... Bull, seriously man, quit screwing around. I can’t drag this out all night.”

Laughing, Bull gave a hissing roll on the high hat. “All right. Call it.”

Barris grinned. “Since it’s been a long time, we’ll go easy on you.” He nodded at the piano player, who launched into an intricate, lilting riff. 

“You ASSHOLE,” Bull shouted, shaking his head and laughing. 

“Blue Rondo a la Turk,” Barris smiled, raising the horn to his mouth and joining the piano.

Dorian laughed. The piece was a classic, going back and forth from a five-to-the-bar, incessant tripping motive that never fully resolved to a laid-back swing groove. Not exactly something to hop into if one hasn’t played drums in years. Dorian sat back and waited for the inevitable train wreck. It was obvious Barris had set him up and that they’d shift to an easier tune once Bull admitted he couldn’t play it.

Bull held his own for the first few bars; the drums traditionally came in later in this tune anyhow. He marked the major beats on the high hat and bass drum. And then he started to relax a little, adding the snare, using the crown of the crash cymbal to change the sound. By the time they hit the swing section, he was playing along like he’d been there all night. 

Dorian was mesmerized. Bull had said he could play, but Dorian was used to people telling him they were musicians. Bull wasn’t messing around though; he was good.  _ Good _ good. He wasn’t just keeping time; he was listening, responding to the other players. 

Eventually Barris and Bull began to trade solos. It was obvious they’d done this many times; Bull was watching Barris carefully for those mysterious hand signals jazz musicians sometimes used. Sometimes one or the other of them would laugh or smile at a phrase, only to mimic it when their turn came around.

The room seemed to both shrink and grow around Dorian -- as if Dorian and Bull were the only ones in the bar. He couldn’t look away from the man. At one point Bull caught him staring and literally skipped a beat, grinning at himself. 

An intense feeling of admiration started to glow hot, somewhere between Dorian's throat and chest. It was exciting and unexpected, and all the more baffling for it. It finally occurred to Dorian: he was  _ smitten.  _

It wasn’t like the fluttering notion he’d batted away on his walk to the bar. This was inescapable, the emotional equivalent of getting hit by a bus. He was falling for this man, and it would surely end badly, and... and he felt  _ wonderful. _ Warm and light and happy, the way he hadn’t felt in years, had almost forgotten the sensation in fact. Even though it was probably doomed to failure, he couldn’t even muster any second thoughts. The best he could manage was a lone, tiny voice somewhere in his head, insisting:  _ you don’t even like pizza. _

***

Damn, it felt good to play with Barris again. Even if that fucker had picked a goddamn tricky tune. That just made Bull try harder. It helped that he had the song on his ipod. 

Bull didn’t get a look at Dorian until they were almost wrapping up, repeating the head one more time before the big finish. He’d been concentrating too hard to risk it.

And with good reason. He glanced at Dorian, who was gazing at him, his eyes wide. When Bull caught that look, he could actually see Dorian gasp a little, then worry at his bottom lip with his teeth. 

Bull gulped, dropping a beat in the process. He wrenched his line of sight away. Damn. Dorian had that  _ look:  _ raw and naked and vulnerable, and Bull really, really couldn’t get enough of it. 

The song ended, Barris dragging it out for ages until they finally came together on the last drum hit. The place exploded with applause and hooting. Bull caught Dorian grinning, whistling with two fingers in his mouth.

Bull stood and waved, handing the sticks off to the actual drummer. Barris turned. “C’mon, man, one more? We’ll do St. Thomas, for old times sake.” 

Bull glanced at Dorian, who had calmed down and was gazing into his drink. Suddenly the corner looked awful lonely. “Nah, man, I gotta get back to my date.”

“Date? What the fuck is this? You going soft?” Barris frowned good-naturedly.

“Not even close, buddy,” Bull grinned, slapping him on the shoulder. “Hey, actually, you think you could maybe play a couple downtempo? You know. Set the mood.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Barris snorted. “Since when do you need help setting moods? Damn. You got it bad.” He shook his head.

Bull sidled out from behind the kit and made his way to the table. He had to stop a bunch of times, shake hands and so forth. Eventually he made it back and drained the rest of his beer in one swallow. “Damn, I forget how hot it gets when you’re playing.”

Dorian was staring at him. The naked admiration tempered itself into sarcasm as his eyes narrowed. “‘I used to play a bit, ages ago,’” he recited, mocking Bull’s words. A second later he swatted Bull on the arm. “You great oaf, you didn’t tell me you were phenomenally talented!”

“Pretty sure they call that boasting,” Bull said, rubbing his arm.

“Nonsense. Any good Tevinter will tell you it’s not boasting if it’s true. I believe, however, I owe you a drink.” Dorian rose and swiped the empty glasses off the table, heading to the bar before Bull had a chance to protest. 

Bull sat down. The bar was slammed and Fenris was behind on orders. Dorian leaned casually on the bar, surreptitiously checking his moustache in the mirror lining the back wall. 

Damn, he was just so cute. Bull looked away before he got caught. As he did so, he saw three women further down. They all had the same look, even though they didn’t resemble one another. Something about their posture, their clothes - it was like they matched. 

One was looking right at him; another was murmuring something in her ear, even though the music hadn’t started up. The third was sipping something pinkish from a martini glass. She wasn’t looking at Bull, but she plucked the cherry from the glass and languidly brought it up to her mouth; given the way she was positioned in profile, it was pretty fucking obvious the little show was for his benefit.

Bull knew what was coming next. For once, he wasn’t looking forward to it. Bull turned his attention elsewhere, not reacting. Maybe that would work? 

It didn’t work. 

A moment later, all three crowded around one side of the table - his blind side, no less, so he was forced to turn and engage. That was a surprise, actually. He’d expected one, maybe two. Three was like something out of a teenage fantasy. Frankly, though, Bull was kinda pissed. He’d seen these three when he walked in - they were scoping the room like eagles. No way they’d missed him sitting with Dorian. Still, maybe they were just being friendly.

“That was quite a performance.” The nearest woman spoke with an Orlesian accent. She leaned into his space, tipping her chin to show off her cleavage.

Not just friendly, then. Bull almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. He was about to pass up probably a once in a lifetime experience, and he couldn’t have been happier about it. Luckily, he knew a thing or two about defusing these kinds of situations. “Thanks!” Bull smiled wide and bright. Sincerity was really useful, sometimes.

The furthest woman, directly across the small table, raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You are clearly a man of many talents.” She sounded almost identical to the first chick.

By now Dorian had caught sight of what was happening in the mirror. His jaw was working and his moustache twitched. He was  _ pissed. _

Bull continued to smile, ratcheting it up to goofy, hoping Dorian would get the hint. “Aw, shucks. That's nice of you to say.” He hung his head as if he were bashful, rubbing the table with his thumb.

“Yes, er - the question is, whether you might be willing to demonstrate those talents.” The woman in the middle was second-guessing things, if the reluctance in her voice was anything to go by.

Dorian turned with the beers,  _ finally.  _ His face was neutral, maybe a little guarded. 

Bull called out to him. “Hey honeybuns!”

Dorian Fucking Pavus did not even blink. He just went with it, his face softening into a wide smile. “Why, amatus, you’ve made some friends! How  _ wonderful!”  _ He set the drinks down and held out his hand. “Dorian Pavus, how do you do?”

The closest woman sneered at his hand, but Dorian did not falter. “Fleur,” she sighed finally, giving him the limpest, briefest handshake Bull had ever seen. The other two followed suit, naming themselves as Coteau and Colombe.

“So what brings you out this fine evening, ladies?” Dorian sipped his beer. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you before.”

Fleur rolled her eyes, caught in the net. She had to respond. If she and her friends retreated too abruptly, it would've been tantamount to admitting they were only interested in fucking Bull. “Do you come here often, Monsieur?”

“Frequently, in fact. I’m a great fan of jazz. Isn’t that true, dearest?” Dorian batted his eyes at Bull.

“Sure is -” Bull scrambled to come up with another pet name. “- sweetcheeks.”

Coteau gave up; she pulled out her phone and began fiddling with it. 

“And have you been together long?” Colombe didn’t even look at them, already scoping out the room for better prospects. 

“No,” Dorian said simply. “But one simply knows, doesn’t one? Isn’t that right, pookie?” He lobbed a vapid, adoring gaze at Bull.

“Absolutely, sugar -” At the last possible second Bull stopped himself from saying ‘tits’. “- butt,” he mumbled into his beer.

Fleur’s phone rang. She pulled it out and glanced at it. “You must excuse me. I am needed elsewhere. Ladies.” She beckoned the others away.

Bull was already barely holding in his laughter as it was; knowing that Coteau had literally called the other woman’s phone  _ right in front of them _ was almost more than Bull could take. He made it until they’d gone out the front door to regroup, then dissolved into spluttering giggles.

Dorian dropped the friendly act and scowled at the space the women had occupied. “Ugh. Simply no tact. What, do I have to urinate on you? Mark my territory? I was only gone a few seconds.”

“You know I didn’t-” Bull began.

Dorian waved him off. “Bull I have no problem with a bit of friendly flirting, or even more than that, under the right circumstances. But I cannot abide poaching. Sweet Maker, they didn’t even have the decency to wait until I went to the restroom.” He shook his head, clearly more upset at the breach of protocol than anything.

Somehow it was both a relief and charming at the same time. Bull didn’t do well with jealousy. “Just glad you knew what was happening.”

“Oh, trust me. They might’ve thought they were smooth, but let me tell you, they wouldn’t last a second in Tevinter.” He narrowed his eyes. “I must say, your choice of pet names is a bit single-minded. Honeybuns? Sweetcheeks?  _ Sugarbutt?  _ Suddenly your honey/hiney fixation is making more sense.”

Bull burst out laughing. He didn’t even think, he just reached out and pulled Dorian in by the shoulders, planting a kiss on the top of his head. “You are utterly fucking delightful, you know that?” Before Dorian could come up with some way to deflect the compliment, Bull rose. “Come on. Dance with me.”

Barris had just started up a sultry version of Ruby, My Dear. A few other couples had come together, swaying in the dim light.

“What? Here?  _ Now?” _ Dorian's eyes were a bit wild, but he bit his lip too, like he was a little into it.

“Yeah. Come on. It’ll be fun.” Bull held out his hand.

After another second of hesitation, Dorian took it. Bull pulled him close, one hand on Dorian's lower back, the other intertwined with Dorian's hand, like they’d been on the roof yesterday.

It took a second to settle in; Dorian was stiff, glancing about. 

“It’s all right. Look, there’s two women dancing over there. No one cares.” Bull pointed with his chin. 

Dorian nodded and shuffled a bit closer. The increased contact seemed to relax him. Bull felt the tension leave his muscles, and he allowed Bull to lead them in a slow circle. “This is nice,” he said, looking up.

Fuck, it was that look again. Bull was caught, almost hypnotized. “Yeah,” he breathed, not looking away.

Dorian didn’t look away either. Their range of motion gradually decreased until they were barely moving, just swaying in place. Bull was aching with it all -- the music, the way Dorian felt against him. And then Dorian shifted his hips and Bull started to ache in a more familiar way.

“You wanna...” Bull was caught between wanting to stay in that moment forever, and getting Dorian to a bed or some other suitable flat surface as soon as fucking possible.

“Get the hell out of here? Yes please,” Dorian laughed, breathless.

It took an enormous amount of willpower not to lean down and kiss Dorian, but Bull held back. If the guy was jumpy about a dance, he sure as hell wasn’t gonna be comfortable with kissing. Bull settled for bringing Dorian's knuckles up to his mouth and brushing them with his lips.

“Fuck,” Dorian whined quietly, sagging a little into Bull’s arms.

Bull gave a half-smile. “Ready when you are.”

They went to the bar to pay their respective tabs. Fenris took Dorian's card but waved off the money Bull held out. “No charge for musicians,” he smirked.

“What? He only sat in on one song!” Dorian protested to Fenris’ back. “Well I never,” he harrumphed.

“Bring your cello next time,” Bull suggested, rubbing circles into Dorian's back, fighting the urge to let his hands slip down below the belt. Damn, it was getting difficult to keep things PG. 

Dorian scowled as he signed the slip, nonetheless leaving a generous tip, big enough to cover the drinks for both of them, even if Bull’s were free. “Maybe I will.”

On the walkway outside, they hesitated. “Where we going?” Bull asked. His fingers trailed down Dorian's arm.

Dorian tentatively took his hand. “I walked.”

“Me too. I’m closer.” Bull nodded in the direction of the Factory.

“Okay.” Dorian started to smile, but the expression dimmed as his eyes focused on something over Bull’s shoulder. “Oh no.”

“Well what a surprise!” Bela’s voice cooed from behind Bull.

“Do you know what surprises are? I’m fairly certain this isn’t it,” Dorian said, one eyebrow raised suspiciously.

Hawke was with Bela, arms linked. He looked up at the night sky in the most shameless display of false innocence Bull had ever seen.

“Well anyway, surprise or not, we’re heading out,” Bull stated. 

“What? You’re leaving?” Hawke looked disappointed. “She promised me you’d be here!” He pointed at Bela.

She smacked him lightly on the shoulder for revealing her deception. “So, okay. Not a surprise. You’re not leaving, really, are you?” 

“I don’t wanna listen to Genitivi,” Hawke whined to Bela, shoulders slumping. “Can’t we go home?”

“It’s not Genitivi, it’s Barris,” Bull pointed out. Hawke perked up a bit at that.

“Aww,” Bela pouted. “Sure we can’t get you to stay for another round?”

Dorian shifted his weight from foot to foot. Bull really, really did not want to lose the moment. He saw some motion out of the corner of his eye. “Tell you what,” he said, then turned. “Hey! Hey, Colombe! C’mere!” Bull waved one of the Orlesian women over from the clot of smokers by the entrance.

She scowled at him, but complied. “It’s Coteau.”

“Whatever. This is my friend Bela, and my other friend Hawke.” Bull made the introductions. 

“Well,  _ hello,” _ Bela purred, sauntering closer to her. “Coteau, was it? What an enchanting name.” Colombe and Fleur sidled up suspiciously, looking vaguely feline as they watched over their companion.

Hawke, meanwhile, looked like a kid left overnight in a toy store. His eyes were wide as saucers. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said quietly. 

“Nope. Have fun,” Bull said, clapping him on the arm. “Also I’m never getting you another birthday present as long as you live.”

“You’ve never gotten me a birthday present,” Hawke pointed out. The Orlesians were eyeing Hawke. He stood a bit straighter, flexed a bit. Bela’s eyes glowed.

Bull knew that look. “Then consider this retroactive back to your birth. See ya.” He didn’t wait for a response, leading Dorian away with purposeful strides. He chanced a glance back once they were a couple dozen yards away. One of the Orlesians had her hand on Hawke’s chest, and Bela had her arm around another. 

“Well that was uncommonly generous of you,” Dorian laughed.

“I owe Bela a couple favors,” Bull said. “Plus, it woulda happened anyway. Bela loves her ladies.”

Dorian chuckled noncommittally. They walked in silence for a dozen paces or so. “Thank you, by the way.”

“For what?”

“For... not... you _ know.  _ You could’ve handled that much differently.” Dorian mumbled the last few words, looking up and away as if he was talking to the street lamp.

“Hey. I don’t do that. If I come somewhere with someone I don’t abandon them.” It was the truth, though it elided the fact that usually Bull didn’t go anywhere with people aside from friends, for just that reason. If he was looking to hook up, he’d take the best offer, end of story. His stomach churned a little to think that, if he’d met Dorian that night for the first time, he might’ve dropped the man in favor of the Orlesians, just based on simple math alone. 

“Well. That's very gallant of you.” Dorian still wasn’t looking at him. 

Bull chose his words carefully. “You don’t have to thank me for simple decency.”

Dorian glanced up at him with a cynical grin and hummed in that way that said ‘oh yes I do’. 

It shouldn’t have been that big a deal. Bull knew dating kind of sucked -- people were assholes. But that fragment of pain that Dorian was carrying suddenly made Bull angry. Angry that Dorian had endured whatever bullshit he’d been through, and angry that Dorian's ability to trust in basic humanity had decayed so much.

Bull stopped short. “Look. I know you’ve been through some shit. I’m not saying you should abandon all your armor on my say so, after a week. I just... look, I just need you to know this is different for me, too, okay? And I might not do what you expect all the time, cause I don’t know this dance. But I’m here because I want to be. I  _ want _ to be here, with you.” 

Dorian's eyes narrowed a little, but he didn’t look scared or cynical anymore, so that was something, at least. “Oh.” 

“Do you think I’m lying, or playing you, or something?” Bull couldn’t get a bead on the situation.

“No, I -” Dorian started to say automatically, then stopped. He laughed once. “No, actually I believe you. I want to be here too.” He looked like he was surprised about it. Then he glanced around. “Well, not  _ here, _ specifically. I was rather hoping for something more horizontal to round out the night.”

Bull breathed a little easier. “Oh, I think I can help you out with that.”

“So why are we standing around talking?” Dorian's eyes glinted.

“No idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Orlesians are based on Celene's handmaidens, in case I didn't make that clear. Also you guys are getting a crash course in my favorite jazz, and I'm not the least bit sorry.


	10. Second Helping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull and Dorian conclude their second date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut ahoy!

It took far longer to reach Bull's apartment than it should have. They walked quickly enough, arriving at the Factory just a few minutes after they’d stopped to talk. It was the elevator ride that took so long.

It was an old-fashioned freight elevator, the kind with a gate. Bull pulled the rickety contraption up and stepped in after Dorian. Whatever confusion they'd had before, they were definitely on the same page now, coming together in a frantic press of hands and mouths.

Dorian took the initiative, kneeling in front of Bull as they were hauled upward. He pressed his mouth against the bulge in Bull’s jeans, his hands splayed against Bull's hips. He looked up, baring his teeth, which he dragged against the thick fabric.

Bull smashed at a button and the elevator ground to a halt between floors. “Fuck,” Bull breathed. “That’s so fucking good.” He growled in approval, laying his hands on Dorian's head gently.

Dorian continued, chuckling low in his throat. He kept his hands steady, instead rubbing his face against Bull, making no attempt to unzip or gain access to flesh. He was half-hoping that Bull would push him, demand more.

But Bull seemed content to let Dorian tease. His hands stayed on Dorian's head, but they weren’t guiding his movement in any way. If anything, Bull was merely stroking his hair. After another minute, Dorian began to get concerned. Most men he’d been with would be deep-throating him by now if he allowed it. Perhaps he was doing something wrong?

Dorian glanced up. He shuddered when Bull lowered his head, which had tipped back. His eye was black with lust. “Do -” Dorian swallowed against the dryness in his throat. “Do you want more?” He’d meant it to sound more confident.

Bull yanked him to standing, then pulled him close. “Hell yeah. But not here. Been thinking about this all week. You think I wanna waste it on a quick fuck in an elevator?” He tipped Dorian's chin up and kissed him, deep and slow, while he pressed the button to make the elevator resume its journey.

Once they reached the top floor, there was the matter of getting to Bull’s door. It wasn't easy to walk backwards while a nearly seven foot tall person is kissing the life out of you, but Dorian had many talents.

The interior of the apartment was a vague blur of dark shapes and streaks of moonlight from the huge windows. Dimly, Dorian realized there were no curtains. Bull fumbled on the wall for a switch and a small lamp clicked on, hardly brighter than a candle, illuminating the bed.

Dorian's shirt was half undone and his shoes kicked off by the time they reached the bed. He pulled away, intending to make quick work of the rest of his clothes.

“Wait.” Bull put a hand over Dorian's. “Let me? Please?”

It was a bit surprising, but the man had been an exotic dancer. Perhaps he enjoyed the ‘getting naked’ part of the proceedings. Dorian usually got rid of the clothes as quickly as possible. It was never as sexy as the movies, after all.

Still, he nodded and lowered his hands. Bull smiled and went for the buttons on Dorian's shirt. Dorian hadn’t known just how slowly it was possible to slip a bit of plastic through a buttonhole. He was shivering by the time Bull shucked the fabric over his shoulders. “Is this my punishment for the elevator?” Dorian laughed.

Bull was tugging his belt away, loop by loop. “I wouldn’t call it punishment,” he murmured. “You suffering?”

“Not a bit,” Dorian breathed. His pants fell to the floor and he kicked them aside.

“Good,” Bull nodded. “Thought I’d take care of you.”

Rilienus’ voice flashed through Dorian's head: _Because you can’t take care of yourself._ Dorian was fairly sure he didn't flinch. _He didn’t mean it like that. Calm down or you’ll ruin things again._

Bull was watching him carefully. “That okay?”

“God, yes, yes of course,” Dorian blurted out, plastering a smile on his face.

“Hey.” Bull cupped his face with one hand. “I hit a nerve, huh?”

How the hell was Bull so damn perceptive? It was uncanny. “You probably think I’m made of glass,” Dorian guessed. “I do actually manage to have sex without ruining things on occasion.”

“We all have our shit to deal with,” Bull said. “You want to tell me about it?”

“You can’t possibly want to dredge through ancient history now,” Dorian scoffed.

“Well I don’t wanna keep pressing your buttons, either,” Bull said. “Got some other things I’d like to be pressing.” He reached around and squeezed Dorian's ass.

Dorian groaned at the terrible joke. He let himself lean forward, resting his forehead on Bull’s chest. _He could be fucking three Orlesians right now, and he’s choosing to be with you. Try to relax, will you?_ “Remind me to ask you where you get this bottomless wellspring of patience,” Dorian said. “And for the time being, it’s enough to know I had an ex who doubted my ability to take care of myself.”

“Gotcha,” Bull said. “Good to know. And I know you can take care of yourself. You took care of both of us last week. Just trying to return the favor.”

“All right,” Dorian said. “What do you want me to do?”

Bull pulled their hips together and ground against him a little. “That’s what I was gonna ask you.”

Dorian's mind went utterly blank. He’d never been particularly adept at dirty talk. He could respond adequately, but just barking out instructions or demands was beyond him. “Ahh....” He felt the first tinges of panic and fought it down. “I’m open to suggestions.”

Bull laughed, not a little chuckle, either. It was a booming, warm sound that wrapped around Dorian. “How about this. How about you give me ten minutes to treat you nice. Let me suck that pretty cock, play with that gorgeous hole, just my fingers. You don’t like it, you want to stop, you just tell me. How does that sound?”

Something about Bull’s laugh loosened the coil of tension in Dorian's chest. He’d never experienced sex that involved laughter, but it felt pretty fantastic, he had to say. Dorian grinned. “I _suppose_ I could spare ten minutes.” He tried to make it sound like a chore.

Bull’s answering smile was wicked. “I like a challenge. On the bed.” He tipped his head towards the mattress.

Settling on the bed, Dorian scooted out of his briefs and socks while Bull stripped his own clothes. Dorian's cock was attempting to rally; he’d gone soft. Bull showed no signs that he minded at all, sucking Dorian into his mouth gently with a happy-sounding grunt.

“Oh fuck,” Dorian breathed.

Bull glanced up at him, his gaze glinting with lust and humor. It was a strangely intoxicating combination. He paused long enough to ask, “good?”

Dorian nodded. “Very good.” He was nearly hard now. There was another sparkle in Bull’s eye, maybe a hint of devilishness, and he ran the tip of his tongue between Dorian's foreskin and crown.

“Oh _fuck,”_ Dorian half-moaned, half-laughed. “I should’ve asked for fifteen minutes.”

Bull had to stop sucking his cock; he was laughing too hard.

“That better not be counting against my time,” Dorian complained.

Still laughing, Bull crawled over top of him. “Baby, I’ll give you all night, if that's what you want.” He leaned down for a kiss.

Things got serious, fast. It was a hungry sort of kiss. Bull had this way of kissing that was somehow both teasing and demanding, leaving Dorian wanting more. Bull shifted his body, spreading Dorian's legs and resting his weight between them. Dorian didn’t hesitate, wrapping his legs around Bull’s hips. It just felt right.

“You’re making it hard to keep my promises,” Bull said in between kisses. He rolled his hips, his cock sliding against Dorian.

“Rain check,” Dorian gasped. “God, fuck me Bull.”

Bull started laughing again; Dorian could feel the stuttering of his diaphragm against his own chest. “You got it.”

Dorian moaned in relief.

“Gonna have to let go for a second,” Bull said, reaching to unwrap Dorian's legs from his torso.

Dorian grumbled, earning him another laugh from Bull. God, why had he always thought sex had to be serious? Oh right, because he’d never slept with anyone that made him laugh so easily.

Bull retrieved the lube and a condom. Dorian rolled to his stomach, rearing his ass up slightly.

“Ooh, like to see that,” Bull said. He smoothed his palms over the globe of Dorian's ass, squeezing gently. He drizzled the lube onto Dorian, guiding it down the cleft. One of his fingers came to rest on Dorian's hole. “Ready?”

Dorian nodded and reared up. “Yes.” He groaned when Bull pressed into him.

Bull shifted to lay next to him on his side. “Fuck, you’re so gorgeous.” He leaned over to land a kiss on Dorian's shoulder. “That feel good for you?”

“Mmm.” Dorian's eyes fluttered closed and he attempted to press back against Bull.

“Ooh, now _that's_ nice. That's it, baby. Take as much as you want.” He held his hand steady.

Dorian didn’t need to be asked twice. He bucked against Bull’s finger. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it felt fantastic.

“Damn. So fucking gorgeous. You want a little more? Is it good?”

“More,” Dorian nodded. By now he was resting on his elbows and knees. Bull’s patience was apparent here, too. He took his time, much longer than Dorian needed. Scared that he was boring Bull, Dorian peeked his eyes open. The first thing Dorian did was look down the bed. Judging by his twitching erection, Bull wasn’t bored. Dorian glanced up. Bull was watching his face, his expression raw, almost vulnerable. One would almost think their places could be reversed.

Bull visibly swallowed. “Good?”

Dorian nodded, still fucking himself on Bull’s hand. The combination of Bull’s fingers and the eye contact was almost uncomfortably intense.

Somehow, though, Bull found a way to ratchet that intensity up even further. “Could watch you like this all night. So damn gorgeous. Fuck, look at you. So beautiful.”

A wordless moan warbled out of Dorian's mouth. He arched his back so that he could at least drag his cock on the sheets. Bull’s fingers weren’t enough. “Please,” he gasped.

“Mmm, gonna give you everything you want,” Bull said. He pulled entirely out, drawing a frustrated groan from Dorian. “I got you, sweetness.”

He pushed back into Dorian. This time there were three fingers, not two, and he’d changed the angle of his hand so his fingertips were pressing on Dorian's prostate.

“Oh fuck oh fuck,” Dorian gasped, squeezing his eyes shut and bucking back hard. “God yes.”

“Mmmm, that's nice,” Bull drawled. “Told you I got you.”

Dorian gave a shivery laugh. “Yes but why aren’t you _fucking_ me?”

“Good question.” Bull rolled to his knees, grabbing the condom.

The pause in the proceedings allowed Dorian to grab some pillows and shove them under his hips. He’d just gotten settled when he felt Bull’s hands on his lower back. “Dorian, you got a phenomenal ass,” he noted.

“That needs fucking,” Dorian reminded him.

“You are a brat,” Bull laughed. He smacked one cheek playfully.

Dorian hadn’t meant to moan so loudly, but sometimes these things happen. He’d been spanked before, in that way that men who watch too much porn seem to think it’s a requirement. It was fine, he supposed. Didn’t really do much for him, usually.

Apparently Bull knew some trick to it, because it stung in exactly the right way. It hurt, yes, but it felt _good._ Before Dorian could pause to think about it, he felt Bull line up his cock. “God, please yes,” Dorian whined.

Bull didn’t tease, not this time. He pressed in, slow and steady, his hands gripping Dorian's hips. “Fuck,” he drawled. “So good. So _good.”_

Dorian tried to roll his hips. The stretch had tempered his desperation slightly, but he’d never been particularly patient.

Maybe Bull had also reached the end of his patience, because after bottoming out on the first slow push, he set a rhythm, leaning his body over Dorian's back.

It was everything he needed and more. God, he’d been dreaming of Bull fucking him all week, but the fantasy didn’t touch the reality of having Bull’s weight pinning him while he fucked into Dorian. Dorian started to babble, yelping out _fuck_ and _oh god_ and _more, deeper, deep,_ the words interspersed with whines and moans.

Bull was making noise too, low grunts in his ear. “Fuck you’re so good, you’re so _good._ Wanna make you feel as good as me, baby. Tell me what you need.”

He reached one arm around Dorian's chest, and Dorian clutched at it like a lifeline. “Bull,” Dorian whimpered. “More, please more.” The pleasure which had swaddled him was becoming focused, intense. Between the relentless pounding and the friction of his cock against the pillows, he was getting close.

Bull increased his pace, pushing himself up on his hands. The thrusts were less powerful, but the new angle made Dorian's impending orgasm a fact rather than a possibility.

Dorian gasped. “Bull, I - oh fuck, I’m going to _come.”_ He’d never come from anal alone. He’d nearly managed it a few times on his own with toys, but certainly never with someone else.

Bull’s breathing was ragged. “Fuck yes. Come for me, baby. That's it, come on. Let it happen. Lemme feel you, baby, please.”

Dorian wailed, full voice, the sound percussed by Bull slamming into him. And then he tipped over, spurting into the pillows, coming and coming and _coming._

He shuddered with aftershocks. And a fair bit of actual shock, too. It wasn’t just the fact he’d come without a hand on his cock. It was the fact he’d come without his _own_ hand on his cock. Years of lackluster dates and near-anonymous hookups had meant Dorian rarely relied on anyone else to be concerned with his comfort, much less pleasure. The men who had skill usually lacked consideration, and vice versa.

Dorian was rounding the corner on oversensitive when Bull pulled away from him. Unless he’d been incredibly stealthy about it, he hadn’t finished. Dorian was blissed-out and hazy, but an insistent voice in his brain was shouting at him to reciprocate, do _something, now._ He squirmed, trying to turn over with Bull still kneeling between his legs. Dorian succeeded in rolling to his back. He immediately reached for Bull. “Let me -”

“Whoa, hey. No rush, baby. Not going anywhere.” Bull leaned over him, all but forcing Dorian to lay back.

More kisses. Dorian felt like he might drown in this one. He sank into it, the sensation grounding him as the vestiges of post-orgasm haze dissipated. After a moment he reached up, putting his hand on Bull’s cheek and breaking the kiss. “I believe you’ve taken very good care of me.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yes. Let me suck you?” Dorian slid his hands down Bull’s ribs to his hips.

Bull didn’t move. “That what you want?” The question was entirely neutral, no judgment or pressure.

“Do I have to beg?” Dorian smirked. “Or is it enough to say I’ve been thinking about it all week?”

Apparently satisfied in Dorian's sincerity, Bull smiled, a slow curve of his lips that had Dorian wishing he hadn’t already come. And then he reared up, stripping the condom off in a fluid motion. “You’re not the only one.”

Dorian rolled forward to his hands and knees. There was no pretense now; he sucked Bull down till he gagged and then retreated, tasting the bitter chemicals of the condom along with the more mellow musk of Bull.

Bull held perfectly still, his breathing loud and ragged. Dorian wrapped a fist around his cock, stroking him as he looked up. “Am I going to have to do all the work, then?” He opened his mouth, presenting his tongue.

“God damn,” Bull growled. He pushed himself past Dorian's lips. It wasn’t tentative, but neither was he _taking._

Dorian made an encouraging sound, reaching for Bull’s hands and putting them on his head.

With a grunt, Bull began to fuck his face. His movements were tight, controlled, never more than Dorian could handle. Not that Dorian didn’t want more. God, he wanted so much more. Especially now, fucked out and eager to please, all his barriers down -- he wanted to be used. Not in the impersonal, uncaring way that his previous lovers had exhibited. He wanted to be taken, yes, but not humiliated. There was, after all, a difference between being a sacrifice and a victim.

Bull’s fingers tightened on his scalp. “Getting close,” Bull warned, dropping his hands.

Much as Dorian wanted to swallow every drop Bull would give him, it wasn’t the wisest course of action for someone he’d just met. So he rose to his knees with a regretful whine, stroking Bull with his hand.

Bull reached out to grip the back of Dorian's neck, as if to draw Dorian in for a kiss, but apparently all he wanted was eye contact. He was breathing hard, the muscles in his stomach and thighs tense. “Feels good. Feels so good, baby. You’re gonna make me come. You want that?”

“Yes.” It came out a whisper.

It was too intense; Dorian's chest felt hot and cold at the same time, and his cock was trying very hard to re-assert itself. But Bull held his gaze, squinting as the orgasm approached, his lips working soundlessly. His eye widened suddenly and he moaned, loud, his voice half an octave higher than normal, as he came in Dorian's hand.

“God yes,” Dorian breathed. “Kiss me.” He didn’t wait for an answer, leaning in to capture Bull’s lips.

Bull continued moaning, quieter now, as he rode out the aftershocks, shivering against Dorian. After a moment he broke the kiss, but instead of pulling away he buried his face in the crook of Dorian's neck. “Holy shit,” he murmured. He started to laugh.

There wasn’t really anything funny about the situation, but Dorian started laughing too, more to release whatever was left of the intensity of the moment.

Eventually they calmed down. Dorian tottered off to the bathroom to clean up. He squinted at the bright light that flooded the room. He hadn’t gotten much of a look at the apartment proper, but the bathroom was like something out of an architecture magazine. Spotlessly clean, which Dorian appreciated, but also effortlessly stylish. The walls were floor to ceiling subway tile, the sink countertops appeared to be marble, and the fixtures were dark brass, worn in that way that meant they were vintage, possibly original to the building. There was a clawfoot tub resting on the hexagonal tile floor, into which he stepped for a quick shower.

It was exactly the kind of bathroom he’d always pictured for himself. Not that he wasn’t perfectly content with his current bathroom; he’d certainly spent enough time remodeling it. It was, however, odd to think how his life had turned out, so drastically different from what he’d expected.

After his shower, Dorian wrapped a towel around his waist. Would Bull want him to stay? Just because he’d slept at Dorian's last week didn’t mean he’d want to share his own space. Dorian braced himself for the eventuality that he might have to go home. He could practically hear Wynne’s voice in his head, telling him someone wanting space wasn’t the same as rejection.

Bull had pulled on a pair of boxer briefs. He was finishing up changing the pillowcases and looked up at Dorian, an almost goofy grin on his face. “Hey.”

Dorian was quite sure his own smile was similarly foolish, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Hey, yourself.”

Bull reached for him. The man did love his kisses, a fact for which Dorian was infinitely grateful.

“You wanna stay?” Bull murmured. “You don’t have to.”

“I’d like that.”

“Good.” Bull grinned. “Kinda hoped you’d make those pancakes again.”

“Oh ho,” Dorian laughed. “What happened to ‘I don’t eat carbs in the morning’?”

Bull shrugged. “Special occasion.”

“Really? What’s that?” Dorian let the towel fall to the side. He lay on the bed with an exaggerated expression of innocence, making no attempt to hide his nudity.

He could almost feel Bull’s gaze travel down his body. Dorian slid one foot up, raising his knee and arching his back as if settling himself. If his hand casually came to rest a few inches from his now half-hard cock, well. Surely that was mere coincidence. “You were saying?”

Bull was still staring at his body, now focused on his dick. He licked his lips. “Uh, I forgot.”

“Well hopefully I disrupted a pun,” Dorian mused, stroking the inside of his thigh.

“You keep teasing me like that, I’m gonna need those carbs, make up for all the energy I’m gonna spend wearing you out.”

“Promises, promises.”

***

Time was, Bull could fuck all night. Technically he still could, long as his cock wasn’t on the hook to do all the work. Wasn’t so easy to deliver on the multiples anymore.

He would’ve been happy to try, though. Seeing Dorian writhing around on his bed was a big incentive. Fuck if it wasn’t hot as hell. Nudity alone wasn’t usually enough to make Bull forget what he was about to say. But there was something about Dorian -- like he was offering himself as opposed to selling himself.

Still, once he got settled next to Dorian and clicked off the light, things calmed down a bit. They kissed for a while, just light and sweet though, nothing that was gonna start any fires. Eventually that slowed down too, till they were just wrapped around each other, Bull winding his fingers through Dorian's hair.

“I had fun tonight,” Dorian murmured, his voice heavy with sleep.

“Me too,” Bull said. ‘Fun’ only scratched the surface of how deeply satisfying it had been. It was simultaneously exciting and familiar. Huh. Weird.

Dorian nuzzled him, squirming as he got comfortable. He breathed in, deep and slow, but when he exhaled, it came out as a stuttering laugh.

“What?” Bull asked.

“Just wondering how Hawke is doing right now,” Dorian snickered.

“Probably hoping there’s some gatorade in the house,” Bull guessed. “Or protein bars.”

Dorian continued to laugh, though after a second the sound dropped off sharply.

Bull could feel a little tension had crept into Dorian's muscles. He took a shot in the dark. “Does it bother you? That I, you know. Hooked up with them a few times.”

Dorian squirmed again, this time out of discomfort. “No.”

Bull snorted.

Dorian huffed and pushed himself up to his elbows. “I’m not bothered that you had sex with them. I... just prefer not to think about the particulars.”

“Is it because Bela’s a chick?” Wouldn’t be the first time someone was bothered by him being pan, but shit, Bull really hoped that wasn’t the case.

Dorian laughed easily. “Good lord no. I mean, I have no desire to have sex with her, but even I can see that Isabela is sexy. It’s because I can’t stand to think of Hawke that way. I’ve seen him run a victory lap around my house because he grabbed the last handful of potato chips on movie night. He thinks emptying his spit valve of his trumpet on the band room floor is an endless source of humor. Once I caught him letting his dog lick peanut butter off his face. The thought of him having an orgasm is very low down on my list of sexy thoughts.”

Bull burst out laughing. Hawke did, in fact, make some pretty unsexy faces when he came, but he made up for it in other ways. Bull guessed Dorian wouldn’t want to hear about that, though. “Gotcha,” Bull said. “Don’t sleep with many of your friends, I take it?”

“Oh heavens no. Why would I want to ruin a perfectly good friendship with sex?” He said it casually, like there was no question that the two were incompatible.

That didn’t bode well, far as Bull was concerned, even if for no other reason than he liked hanging out with Dorian. If the sex dried up, he hoped they’d at least be friends. “I dunno, I’ve slept with a lot of my friends. Works out for me okay.”

Dorian made a dismissive noise. “Well we can’t all be as charming and confident as you. Some of us have properly unhealthy attitudes towards sex. If the Maker had intended us to be well-adjusted, then no one would have fetishes.”

Bull laughed and let it drop. “Fair enough.” He pulled Dorian back in close. They’d probably have to talk about this shit at some point, but for now, it was late and they were tired. “Comfy?”

“Very,” Dorian murmured.

They lay a long time, not saying anything, just settling into the sensation. Dorian's breathing slowed, until he was blowing little puffs through his lips. Bull watched his nose twitch in his sleep. It was ridiculously fucking cute.

Over the last week, Bull had begun to wonder if maybe he was remembering wrong, like maybe it hadn’t been _that_ amazing to fall asleep with Dorian. One thing was clear: Bull might’ve been getting old, but there was nothing wrong with his memory. Because this was pretty fucking incredible.


	11. Breakfast is Overrated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian makes an uncomfortable discovery in Bull's apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATED TAGS!!!! There is angst ahead, so please be aware if you're sensitive to any of those topics.

Watching Dorian wake up was just as satisfying as watching him fall asleep, Bull decided. Maybe more. He could see better, for one. And there was this moment while Dorian was coming awake, where he was confused for just an instant, and then he relaxed and smiled, not realizing Bull could see it. 

Bull was getting accustomed to the ache in his chest. “Morning, beautiful,” Bull murmured quietly.

Dorian inhaled and let it out, looking up at Bull with a deeply satisfied expression. “Good morning.”

“Sleep well?”

“Mmm, very much so,” Dorian said. “What time is it? I should’ve set an alarm.”

“About eight. You need to get out of here?”  _ Please say no. _

“I’ve got a little time,” Dorian smiled. “Assuming you have coffee, that is.”

“Shit yeah.”

It took a little bit, but they both freshened up in the bathroom, Bull got the coffee going, and they settled at the kitchen table with steaming mugs. 

“I love your apartment,” Dorian said, gazing around. 

“Yeah? I like it,” Bull grinned. “It works for me.”

“I see you workout at home,” Dorian noted, looking over at the weight bench and equipment in the corner. “Not a gym rat, then?”

“Heh, no,” Bull shook his head. “I like to be able to grunt in peace.”

Dorian was still staring at his equipment corner, now looking vaguely concerned. Bull followed his line of sight.

_ Fuck.  _ There was a bracket ten feet up or so on the wall, some leftover of the industrial use of the building. Bull figured waste not, want not, so he’d attached a chain to it with a loop at the end. It came in handy for all sorts of things, bondage being high on the list. But he’d forgotten to unhook the set of manacles from the last time he’d played. It had been ages, and he’d basically stopped seeing them.

“Uh,” Bull hedged. What the fuck was he supposed to say? It’s not what it seems like? It was pretty much exactly what it fucking seemed like. “Sorry. Shoulda taken those down.”

Dorian set his coffee on the table carefully, his jaw working. He still hadn’t looked away, and he looked a little pale. Bull started to get worried. 

“Is that... a prerequisite, then?” Dorian said finally. 

“Huh?”

“A requirement. For future encounters. Is that something you’re going to want?” Dorian's voice was level. Too level, too businesslike. 

“Absolutely not,” Bull said. He went to reach for Dorian's hands, but the man flinched back a fraction of an inch, so he stopped. “It’s something I like, but I don’t need it. The only requirement I have is that you want to be here.”

Dorian looked down at his coffee. He was frowning. Bull shut up and let him have a minute.

Finally Dorian spoke, addressing his words towards the table. “How much... do you know about me?”

Bull blinked. “Uh, only what Google said. Child prodigy, college, then nothing.”

Nodding slowly, Dorian licked his lips. “I suppose....” His posture suddenly slumped and he looked to the side. “Well. They say honesty is important. So. The gap in my history started the summer before my final semester of college. I’d gone home for a visit. My father imprisoned me in the house.” His gaze darted to the manacles and away again. “I was to be sent to a ‘rehabilitation facility’. I believe here in the south they call it conversion therapy.”

“Holy fucking shit,” Bull said. He’d heard rumors of that kind of thing from Krem. “Fuck. Fuck, I had no idea. I’m so sorry. Shit. I’m gonna take those down, okay?”

“Please,” Dorian said, his eyes glancing up to Bull’s face without connecting. His knuckles were white around the coffee mug.

It only took a second to remove the shackles. They were meant to be easy to release, after all. Bull put them in the storage locker and shut it. It wasn’t much, but short of tossing them off the fire escape, there wasn’t much he could do.

Dorian hadn’t moved from his seat, still slumped in his chair. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be a bother.”

“Dorian,” Bull said, kneeling by his chair. “It’s not a bother. Not for you, not for anyone. I shouldn’t have left those hanging around.” He wasn’t touching Dorian, but shit did he want to. 

“Well, you should be able to live your life,” Dorian countered. “My past shouldn’t be something you have to tiptoe around. It’s not your fault.”

“I know. But that doesn’t mean I need to be flinging your triggers in your face, either. Hey. Hey, can I - can I touch you?”

Dorian's jaw clenched. He didn’t speak for a long moment. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer not.”

“Okay. Anything you need,” Bull sat in the chair across from him. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d rather just get it over with,” Dorian said. He took a gulp of coffee.

“That’s fine.” 

Dorian nodded. He opened his mouth and shut it a couple times. “When I was thirteen, father caught me kissing one of my friends.” He took another swig of coffee. “Suddenly we were going to a lot of church. Lots of one-on-one meetings with the Mothers in the Chantry, telling me the Maker wouldn’t love me unless I repented my ‘sins’. Well, I’m not stupid. And performance has always been my specialty. So I lied. I lied and lied and lied. I renounced my ‘sins’ and wept great tears of gratitude and smiled and prayed till I was hoarse. And father was so,  _ so  _ proud of me.” His voice caught a little. 

Bull already felt like he wanted to vomit. But he nodded, kept his face calm. 

“I knew I only had to get through a few years, you see. I was already on track to begin college at sixteen. And once I was there, I’d be free. So I played the part, hating myself every second along the way. And  _ oh, _ college was so wonderful. I made countless bad decisions, put myself in all sorts of terrible situations, but I didn’t care. I loved it. I loved it because I was me. Finally.” He stared out the window. 

After a minute Bull prompted him. “And then you had to go back.”

“Yes,” Dorian said. “It was only supposed to be a short visit. I usually spent summers with my mentor Alexius, getting ready for grad school auditions. But that never happened. I was locked in my room, no contact with anyone. At first I thought it was merely punishment for causing a scandal. Something I could endure until father was satisfied. Then I heard father talking to mother about my ‘rehabilitation’.” His face hardened. “After that, I - tried to end it,” he said, pushing through the words, “I was unsuccessful. No way my father would allow his family name to be smirched by suicide. So I was... restrained. For my own safety.”

Bull winced, hissing air through his teeth. “Shit.”

“Well. Anyway,” Dorian said, sitting up straight. “I managed to escape. Father and mother had some last-minute guests for dinner one night, and they wanted a performance. Wouldn’t accept whatever excuses father gave them. I was often called on to play for his colleagues. So I was dressed up and handed my cello. Something happened when I touched it. I’d been so hopeless, but then.... I told father I needed a few minutes to warm up -- I hadn’t been allowed to practice. The strings, you see. Too dangerous.”

“Yeah,” Bull nodded. “I get it.”

“Anyway, I was running through my warmup routine and the door opened. It was a woman I’d never met. She said Alexius had sent her. She handed me a set of keys and some cash.”

He still wasn’t looking at Bull, but a sad smile slid across his face and then away again. “You know, I thought it was a trick. A test. Something my father had devised. I almost didn’t take the chance. If I hadn’t....” He shook his head to rouse himself. “Anyway. I escaped, end of story. Drove to Nevarra with nothing but my cello.”

Bull sat for a bit, let it sink in. There was only so much that you could say, really. He’d stopped telling people about Seheron because they always apologized. Like that would make a fucking difference. And then the burden’s on you to accept their apology, and it’s a whole thing. “Thank you for telling me. Can’t have been easy to say.” 

Dorian tipped his head in acknowledgement. “It’s not my favorite subject, no.” His eyes shifted uncomfortably. “Could I... possibly trouble you for....” He exhaled sharply, almost a sob but not quite. One of his hands loosened from the mug and reached an inch towards Bull.

Bull grabbed his hand and gripped it. “You want a hug?”

Dorian wasn’t looking at him, blinking rapidly down at the table. “Not necessary,” he said eventually.

“Didn’t ask if it was  _ necessary,”  _ Bull pointed out. “Asked if you wanted it.” When Dorian didn’t answer right away, Bull continued. “Look, man. I know what it’s like to get hit with a trigger outta nowhere. Hugs ground me, but if there’s something else you -”

“God yes, please,” Dorian choked out, his voice halfway between laughter and tears. 

Bull came around the table. Dorian turned in his chair, though he still couldn’t meet Bull’s eye. That kinda hurt, not because Bull was offended, but because he knew Dorian must’ve been suffering. Bull wrapped his arms around Dorian and squeezed. “This okay?”

Dorian was already nodding. “I’m fine. I’m fine, really.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. He wasn’t shaking, though he was tense.

“I know,” Bull said. “But it’s okay if you’re not.”

The tension gradually seeped out of Dorian. It didn’t seem to Bull like he was having a full on panic attack, but it was hard to tell, especially since he didn’t know how Dorian operated in a lot of ways. 

“Can we take a rain check on the pancakes?” Dorian said finally, pulling away from Bull. “I’m not terribly hungry. And I should head home, get ready for my lesson.”

“You got it,” Bull said at once, letting go of him. “You want me to walk you home? Call a cab?”

“No, the walk will do me good, I expect,” Dorian said, like he was discussing the weather.

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Bull said. Something was wrong, but it was eluding him. He didn’t want to let Dorian leave, but clearly the guy wanted some space. 

Dorian was standing up, looking around for his shoes. He sat on the edge of the bed as he put them on. Everything in Bull was screaming at him, but there was nothing he could do. “Hey. Can I text you later?” 

“Of course,” Dorian said with a polite smile, his voice artificially cheery. He stood and tugged his shirt straight.

“Dorian.” The name seemed to get through him a little, because he looked at Bull finally. “Hey. I’m worried about you.” Bull put his hands on Dorian's shoulders.

“I’ll be fine,” Dorian repeated. 

“Wait,” Bull said, a thought catching him. “Just two seconds.” He went to his desk and rifled through the top drawer. There was an old padlock in there, a key still in the lock. He grabbed it and hurried to the storage chest, locking it. “Here,” he said, handing out the key. “You can take it.”

Dorian scowled at it. “Why?” His voice was razor sharp with distrust.

Bull shrugged like it was no big deal. “Want you to feel safe here.”  _ Want you to come back. _

Dorian made no move. “Bull, I’m serious. I’m not going to stand in the way of your... interests. You’re perfectly free to tie up anyone you choose.”

Blinking rapidly, Bull couldn’t help but laugh, even though the sound made Dorian’s scowl deepen even further. “Dorian. Those are  _ my _ manacles. For  _ me.”  _

It took Dorian a second. “Oh.  _ Oh.  _ I... oh.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “And... you won’t be needing them?”

“I don’t play like that very often, and it’s not that big of a deal. You being comfortable is way more important.” He kept his hand motionless; he’d already made the offer. Shoving the key at Dorian wouldn’t help.

With extreme reluctance, Dorian took the key and pocketed it. He tugged his shirt straight again and threw back his shoulders. “And is there any other way I can make your morning less enjoyable, Mr. Ashkaari?” He perfectly mimicked the inflection of a concierge at a fine hotel. Bull could still hear some tension in his voice, but the fact he’d made a joke was probably a good sign. 

Probably.

Bull stroked his chin, looking up at the ceiling. “You could  _ not _ text me when you got home. That would definitely make my morning worse.”

The easy, fake smile fell from Dorian's face. He wasn’t frowning either; Bull had no idea what he was feeling. “I’ll text.”

“Good. Thank you.”

Dorian turned towards the door and Bull followed. “Can you find your way out again or you want me to walk you?”

“I’m fine,” Dorian nodded. 

It still wasn’t right, but it was less wrong than it had been. And there was nothing else Bull could do, anyway. Was there?

At the threshold, Dorian paused, because that's what people do. “Well,” he said. 

“Hey. Thank you for telling me. I’m sorry I left that shit hanging around.” Bull wasn’t sure if saying it again would help. 

Dorian gave Bull a tight smile. “It’s fine. Really. I’ll... I’ll see you.”

“I’d like that.”

Dorian nodded and left abruptly. Bull fought the urge to watch him walk away, because that would definitely be creepy. He shut the door and leaned his forehead on the aluminum. “Fuck.”

***

“You look terrible.” Cole’s huge unblinking eyes stared at Dorian from the office doorway.

Dorian sighed. He should’ve known Cole would sense he was upset. He’d made it home without breaking down and immediately went for a long, grueling run. He should’ve called Wynne, but she would have insisted he come in for an emergency session. And he’d be seeing her tomorrow morning for their regular appointment. He was an adult. He could take care of himself. And he did. The run exhausted him, which was exactly what he needed. He had just enough time to shower and wolf down some food before the lesson. “Cole, has anyone told you there’s such a thing as too much truth?”

“Yes.”

“Well come in. I may look terrible but life marches on. We’ll start with the Beethoven duets, if it’s all the same.” In all honesty Dorian wanted to play, not teach. There weren’t many pieces written for clarinet and cello, but Beethoven had written a series of clarinet/bassoon duets. They were mostly fluff, but the challenge of impersonating a bassoon was enough to make them interesting for Dorian. And of course, playing along with another person was satisfying as well. 

Dorian tuned the cello while Cole put his instrument together. 

“Don’t you want to warm up?” Cole asked. He wasn’t looking at Dorian, fixated instead on lining the reed up on his mouthpiece. “I did. Before I came.”

“Not necessary,” Dorian smiled.

“But don’t you want to?” Cole left off tightening the screws on his ligature and looked at him. 

The echo of his exchange with Bull was startling, though surely a coincidence. “Well. If you don’t mind.”

“I like hearing you play,” Cole said.

Dorian reached for the Bach and flipped to the Sarabande. Almost immediately, he knew it was a mistake. The memories were too close. He’d been playing this piece when he was rescued. Good god, how had he forgotten that? 

It did not occur to him to stop playing. An exhale must follow an inhale, after all. When his throat began to tighten on a sob, he forced that sensation out of his chest, into his arms and hands, then out through his bow, as Alexius had taught him. 

Thankfully, Cole wasn’t staring at him when he finished. The boy was instead looking out the window. “I’d like to play that, I think.”

Dorian took a shuddering breath and composed his face.  _ Just get through this lesson.  _ “I believe there’s a transcription for clarinet. I can get it for you, if you like.”

Cole nodded. “Thank you.” 

The rest of the lesson passed without incident. After Cole left, Dorian checked his phone. There was a text from Bull.

“Fuck,” Dorian swore under his breath. He’d meant to text when he got home, but had gotten distracted by his run.

_ Hate to bother you but I wanted to check in. You ok? _

Dorian tapped out a response.  _ Yes sorry went for run then forgot. I’m fine. _

Bull’s reply came back almost immediately.  _ Thanks. You need anything? _

Dorian weighed his answer for a moment. It was too soon to put out feelers to see if Bull would want to see him again, and Dorian was in no hurry to find out. He was barely hanging on to his composure as it was. Rejection would tip him over the edge. Best leave the ball in Bull’s court.  _ I’m good, thanks. :) _

He didn’t get the chance to set the phone down before it dinged again.  _ You change your mind let me know.  _ And then another message:  _ Going out of town early tomorrow for a fishing trip with my crew. Offline till Friday. Catch up when I’m back? _

“And there it is,” Dorian breathed. The brush-off. That hadn’t taken long at all. Dorian revised his original estimate of Bull’s concern, subtracting a good amount. Ah well. At least they’d only gone on two dates. 

His fingers were shaking. He had to try three times before he was able to type  _ Of course! :)  _

A glance at the clock told him it was just after 1:00. He felt utterly numb. Idly, he realized that was bad. It was like seeing an explosion far off and waiting for the shockwave to hit. 

He set his phone down and logged on to his desktop. Without thinking - that would get him in trouble - he calmly emailed his students that class was canceled on Tuesday. With that same implacable calm he stood and gathered his things, clicking off the light on his way out. He had some drinking to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys. I guess I can't really write these two without some angst.


	12. Disaster Diverted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull cuts his fishing trip short.

The scent of battered trout frying in a cast iron skillet blended with woodsmoke, bug spray, and cheap canned beer. Bull breathed deep, hoping the familiar smells would calm him down. 

He looked forward to this trip all year, closing down the shop for a couple days while a cleaning company scrubbed every inch of the kitchen. Bull and his crew would go camping on an island in the lake for a few days, reserving all the campsites so they had the place to themselves. 

It was strictly voluntary, of course. Bull paid everyone for the time off, and sprang for the rental fees, food, and half the booze. Everyone else chipped in the rest. This year the whole crew could make it, which didn’t happen often. It was basically his favorite thing to do that still involved wearing clothes. 

This year he was having a shitty time. He was worried about Dorian; the sensation had crept under his skin, making him itchy. Except it wasn’t exactly like worry, it was something else too, something he didn’t recognize. 

“Chief, no offense, but what the fuck is wrong with you?” Krem asked. “Did you wipe your ass with rashvine leaves? Again?”

“Fuck you,” Bull snorted, rooting around in the cooler for a beer. 

“Oh, he’s sensitive, eh?” Dalish cooed. 

“Maybe he wiped his balls too,” Skinner called out, turning the fish over.

“Guys, I’m fine. Just got a lot on my mind.” Bull sat in a canvas camp chair.

“No offense, Chief, but you’re gonna have to do better than that.” Krem folded his arms and rolled his neck. “You’ve caught enough fish for a week, and barely made a dent in the Maraas-lok. Usually it’s just the opposite.”

“Caught you staring at the horizon five times this morning,” Rocky supplied.

“And you tossed and turned all night,” Stitches complained.

“You burned the coffee -” Dalish began.

“And the bacon,” Skinner finished.

Even Grim grunted, which coming from him was a fucking Shakespeare monologue.

“Fuck, alright alright!” Bull waved like he was getting attacked by mosquitoes. “I don’t always have a good day, I’m fucking sorry!”

Everyone’s eyes got really wide. Krem cleared his throat. “Yeah, but, Chief, you always tell us when you’re having a bad one.”

“Is this about the ‘Vint?” Skinner’s face darkened. “Did he do something?”

Bull missed the days when he could lie and get away with it. “Fuck, no. No. I’m worried, alright? I’m worried about him. Now can we let it go?”

“Well  _ you _ can’t, apparently,” Krem scoffed.

“What’s got you worried? His azaleas not blooming? He couldn’t get the right year for his Aggregio?” Dalish laughed.

Bull didn’t get angry a lot, but that did it. “Dalish,” he warned, his voice low. “Don’t.”

“Shit, you really are worried,” Rocky said. “What the fuck happened?”

Bull chugged about half his beer. He couldn’t tell them about what happened to Dorian. It wasn’t his secret to tell. “There’s shit no one should have to go through, and he did, and there was some stuff in my apartment that reminded him of it.”

Krem crinkled his nose. “What kind of stuff?”

Bull looked at him. “Does it matter?”

“Well, what happened?” Stitches looked around at the others.

Bull threw his hands in the air. “I dunno, he got upset, he told me about it, and then he said he had to leave. He said he was fine.” Dorian hadn’t texted him again after Monday lunch. Bull had gone near frantic, wondering if he should text again or call or what. Eventually he gave up and did nothing. Some people need space; Bull understood that. He just didn’t understand why the radio silence bothered him so much.

“How many times?” Skinner asked.

“What?”

“How many times did he say he was ‘fine’,” she asked, using finger quotes.

The bottom fell out of Bull’s gut. “I dunno, like six or seven.”

Dalish gave a low whistle.

Bull grunted in frustration. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Krem rolled his eyes. “Chief, if one of us said that, would you believe it?”

“Well, no, but...” Bull spluttered. “What the fuck was I supposed to do about it? I don’t cross people’s boundaries. He said he didn’t need anything.”

“Yeah? And what did you tell him?” 

Bull shrugged helplessly. “That if he changed his mind, to let me know. And that I’d be out of town for a couple days and we’d catch up when he got back.” Suddenly no one wanted to look at Bull. “What?”

“Oh, Chief.” Krem ran his hands through his hair. “Did you tell him you were going out of town before that?”

“Uh... no. It didn’t come up.”

Krem was already grabbing his pack. “Come on. I’ll take you back to the parking area. We need anything from town while I’m gone?”

“Sunscreen,” Dalish called out.

“Beer,” said Rocky.

“Got it.”

“What? Krem what the fuck?” Bull let Krem pull him up by the elbow.

“Gotta get you back to your ‘Vint before he completely gives up on you,” Krem explained, grabbing Bull’s backpack from Stitches. “I’ll explain it on the way. Come on, I wanna get back before sundown.”

***

Dorian's phone rang. He was splayed out on his couch, watching a rerun of Chopped. The woman with a fauxhawk had just realized she’d forgotten her pine nuts. “Sorry, dearie,” Dorian murmured. Lazily, he slapped at the side table, dragging the phone closer. Bleary-eyed, he recognized Felix’s face and answered the call. “What the fuck took you so long.” He’d called on Tuesday night, and it was Wednesday evening.

On the phone, Felix sighed. “Nice to hear from you, too.”

It was what Felix always said. Usually it was a comfort. Not so much now. Dorian squeezed his eyes shut against the memories, still too close from Monday and loosened by alcohol. He took a ragged breath and reached for his glass.

“Dorian, what’s wrong?” Felix’s voice was sharp with worry.

“Oh, you know. Just lost the ability to control my emotions,  _ again,  _ and probably cost myself a somewhat promising relationship,  _ again.”  _ He took a sip of his wine, not really tasting it.

“What are you drinking?” The sigh on the phone was heavy.

“Wine, thank you mother,” Dorian said defensively. “And yes it’s the first bottle.” 

“Tell me what happened,” Felix said wearily. 

“I told him,” Dorian blurted out. “Bull. I told him about father, about what he did.”

“A bit early, don’t you think? You’ve only been on two dates,” Felix chided. “I thought you were good at this.” The gentle laughter in his voice was a balm.

“I didn’t want to,” Dorian whined. “He’s... into bondage, apparently. Left a pair of cuffs hanging from his wall. I just froze up.” Dorian took another drink. “It was either tell him or let him believe I was some sort of prude.” It hadn’t been that simple, of course. Dorian had  _ wanted  _ to tell Bull, a compulsion to tear off all the bandages and show off the wounds.

“Oh hell,” Felix sighed. “Look, can you hang on for one second? I’m still in bed. I need to piss and get coffee.”

“Of course,” Dorian said automatically. He held the phone to his ear while he got up and refilled his glass, holding the bottle up to the light to see how much was left.

“Back,” Felix said. “Are you okay now?”

“Just run of the mill despair at this point. Monday was... not good.” Dorian paused, wondering how much he should tell Felix. It was over and done, anyway, and there was no point in worrying him. As it went, it wasn’t even close to being one of Dorian's worst breakdowns. He’d stopped at the liquor store and picked up two bottles of a semi-decent vintage and a magnum of cheap-but-drinkable red blend. He was just starting to feel his emotions returning when he’d gotten home, like a distant rumble of thunder. 

It was bad, but not awful. Apparently several years of therapy had instilled some instincts towards self-care after all. Not enough to keep him from drinking, but it could have been much, much worse. He camped out in front of the TV in the basement with the magnum of wine and a box of Triscuits, keeping well outside of view of the liquor cabinet. He queued up  _ Love Story _ on Netflix, because if he was going to be miserable, he might as well have an excuse. 

And  _ oh, _ how miserable he’d been. He felt like a lump of rock out in a stormy ocean, waves of self-loathing battering at him.  _ You’ll always be alone. You’ll never find someone willing to deal with your damage, much less love you. Why would they? What could you possibly offer anyone?  _

How easily he’d broken under the weight of those words before. Still, he’d weathered the storm, falling asleep on the ancient futon before he was tempted to go upstairs in search of harder booze. A few years ago, he mightn't have been so strong.  

“And?” Felix managed to prompt him without sounding impatient or judgemental.

“And I saw Wynne yesterday morning, with a colossal hangover, and then slept most of the day. Today I’m toasting the fact I dragged my sorry derriere into work and mourning the shambles of my love life. A two-fer, as they say.” 

Faint kitchen noises accompanied Felix’s voice. “What did he do? When you told him?”

“Well he seemed to know about triggers and such. Probably from the army. Anyway, he was....” Dorian let his voice trail off. He’d avoided thinking about Bull’s reaction, because it had been the picture of concern, which just made it harder. Dorian wished he’d been an ass. Would’ve made things a lot easier. “He was very good about it. Locked up the cuffs and gave me the key. Said he wanted me to feel safe.”

“Huh.” The faint  _ ting _ of a spoon tapping on a coffee cup punctuated Felix’s thought. “Well that's good, right?”

“Ugh, you sound like Wynne.  _ Obviously  _ he was just trying to get rid of me as fast as possible.” There was a beep on the line; Dorian was getting a text. He ignored it.

“Obviously,” Felix said, laughing. 

“Well that's not  _ all,” _ Dorian huffed. “Suddenly he had to go out of town. On a  _ fishing trip. _ ” Dorian's voice dripped with sarcasm. “He was going to be offline for a few days, and quote could we catch up later unquote.”

There was a pause on the phone. “Oh.”

“Oh, indeed,” Dorian said with grim satisfaction. His phone beeped again. “Granted, the pizza shop is actually closed.”

“You went to his restaurant?” Felix asked, incredulous.

“Well of course I did,” Dorian snapped. “You’ve obviously never had the perverse pleasure of catching someone in a lie.”

Felix sipped his coffee loudly, purposely slurping it so Dorian would hear, then smacking his lips after he swallowed. “Can’t say that I have.”

“Stop mocking me, this is serious,” Dorian whined. “Felix, I really  _ liked _ Bull. He’s smart and funny and talented. And good lord, the things he can do with his cock. And I ruined it, spouting off about how damaged I am. No one wants to fuck a delicate flower. God, why did I tell him?” He’d been asking himself that almost nonstop for three days.

“I’m sorry, Dorian,” Felix said. “I know you like him. I’m just worried you’re making a mountain out of a nughill. Obviously he’s familiar with PTSD, so it might not be an issue. And it seems like he really did go out of town - maybe he just hadn’t gotten the chance to tell you?”

“Yes but -” Dorian sighed. Wynne had said much the same as Felix. Although Dorian hadn’t quite told her everything.  _ “Bondage, _ Felix. What if I can’t give him that? How soon before he gets tired of me?”

“Did you ask him about it?”

Dorian sipped his wine. “He said it’s not important. But of course he was going to say that, I was having an attack. What was he supposed to say, ‘oh, sorry, I know you’re dissociating but also I’m going to need to be tied up occasionally so let’s just end it now?’” Under different circumstances, Dorian's reaction wouldn’t have been so extreme. Now that the shock of seeing the cuffs had faded, the idea didn’t send him into a panic, especially if he were the one in control. Still, there was a long distance between ‘lack of panic’ and ‘enjoyment’. 

Felix snorted. “Yeah, fair point. But again, I mean, he could be telling the truth. Maybe it’s just something he likes, not something he needs.”

“Felix, I’m meant to be wallowing here,” Dorian complained. “You’re really not helping.”

“You’re right. Fuck Bull. You’re better off without him. Big dumb jerk. He doesn’t deserve you.” He rattled the invective off in a bored monotone.

Dorian laughed. God, it felt good. “Ah, Felix. What would I do without you?”

“Never use any minutes on your phone?”

“True,” Dorian said, standing up. He poured the last of the wine into his glass and headed toward the kitchen with the empty bottle.

The doorbell rang.

“Was that the door?” Felix asked. “Expecting company? Getting under it to get over it, hmm?”

“I’m not expecting anyone,” Dorian frowned. It was past dark, surely too late for door-to-door salespeople. He glanced down the hallway. There was a huge, familiar silhouette outlined in the sheer curtain lining the door. “It’s Bull,” he said into the phone.

“Well, are you going to answer it?” Felix laughed. 

***

Bull pulled up to Dorian's house. He still wasn’t sure about this. Seemed creepy, just showing up. On the boat ride from camp, Krem had patiently explained that Bull had been a ‘fucking idiot’, and that Dorian would probably assume Bull had made up the camping trip to avoid dealing with him.

Bull knew that was possible, of course. But a quick drive past the restaurant would make it obvious Bull wasn’t lying. Plus why would he lie about that? Bull had told Dorian that he was worried, that he was there for him. Some people need space to deal with shit. For all Bull knew, Dorian was glad to have a few days to himself.

When Bull had made his case, Krem rolled his eyes so hard that Bull was worried he might hurt himself. “Chief. Just trust me, okay? If you care about this guy, you gotta go above and beyond.”

Bull had scoffed and blustered. It was bullshit. What, people couldn’t be honest with each other? Why all the saying one thing and meaning another? Krem just shook his head. 

Secretly, though, Bull was relieved to be going back. Ostensibly, it was because there was no point in brooding while everyone was trying to have a good time. Probably it had very little to do with the palpable relief at the prospect of seeing Dorian again.

Once he got cell service, Bull had texted Dorian twice. He hadn’t heard back, but it hadn’t been very long either. Krem’s advice was ringing through Bull’s head.  _ If he doesn’t answer his texts, and his light is off, leave a note. If he doesn’t answer, and his porch light is on, go ahead and ring the bell. He can always ignore it.  _ Seemed fucked up to Bull. Krem had insisted that living in a neighborhood, people expected to get their doorbell rung out of the blue.

He didn’t let himself think about it for too long. He rang the bell and started a mental countdown. If there was no response in fifteen seconds, he was out. 

But there was a shadowy figure backlit at the end of the hallway. Bull could hear talking. Shit, maybe Dorian wasn’t alone. He hadn’t thought about that. It wasn’t like they were exclusive. 

Suddenly Bull was starting to see the appeal of exclusivity, if it meant avoiding the weird, curdled feeling churning in his gut.

The door opened. Dorian was staring at him like he was a ghost. He had an empty wine bottle in one hand and his phone cradled in his shoulder. “Bull?”

“Hey,” Bull said. “Tried to text. Saw your light on, thought I’d check on you.”

“Oh,” Dorian said, squinting in confusion. He looked down at the bag in Bull’s hand.

“Uh, brought you some trout.” Bull held up the fish. It was dripping a little.

There was a squawking voice from the phone. Dorian roused himself. “I appear to have company. I’ll have to let you go.” He listened for another second, his eyes still trained on Bull. “I will. I know. Don’t worry. Talk to you soon.” He hung up.

Bull started to feel uncomfortable. Dorian's eyes were red, like he’d been crying a lot or drinking a lot or maybe both. It tore at him in one sense, but set off alarm bells in another. Bull was no stranger to drinking. And he certainly drank alone on occasion. Still, Bull was already concerned. Dorian answering the door in this state wasn’t exactly reassuring.

“Come in,” Dorian said suddenly. “Sorry. How rude of me.” He held the door wide.

Bull followed Dorian into the house. It was a little messy, but not too bad, which Bull took as a good sign. He knew what a three-day bender looked like, and this wasn’t it. The TV was on, and Bull smiled to see Chopped on the screen. 

“Can I get you a drink? This bottle’s empty, but I have another I could open,” Dorian said, holding up the bottle. “Beer? Or I can get you a glass,” he said, gesturing idly toward the liquor cabinet in the dining area.

“I’ll take a glass,” Bull said, not wanting to commit to opening a bottle of wine. “And a little ice, if you got it.” He set the bag of fish into the sink, which was empty. That meant Dorian was at least putting dirty dishes in the dishwasher, if not washing them outright. Another good sign.

Dorian fetched a rocks glass and a pint glass from the cabinet. He added ice to both, then handed the shorter glass to Bull. “Help yourself,” he said, filling his own cup with water. 

Bull surveyed the array of bottles, mostly to buy himself some time. He was still on the wrong foot, thrown off by Dorian's easy hospitality. Dorian seemed a little tipsy, but not completely impaired. Probably polished off that bottle over the course of a couple hours, but the fact he was drinking water was good. Bull grabbed the bourbon and gave himself a moderate pour. 

“So, you’re back early. I only assume by this bag that you’ve emptied the lake.” Dorian drank his water, his eyebrow cocked in challenge.

“Not exactly,” Bull gave a half-shrug. He sauntered back to the kitchen. “I was worried about you. And my guys tell me I fucked up. That maybe you’d think I was trying to avoid you after all that. So I came back.”

“You didn’t fuck up, Bull.” Dorian found something fascinating to look at in the sink. “You were very considerate of my issues.”

Bull was pretty sure things weren’t still supposed to feel so weird. Maybe he wasn’t being direct enough. “Hey,” Bull said, tucking a thumb under Dorian's chin. “I’m sorry. I should have told you earlier I was going away. Probably shouldn’t have gone at all, but I didn’t want to crowd you.”

Dorian raised his eyes. Bull couldn’t read his expression, though. “It’s never easy, is it?”

“Wouldn’t know,” Bull said. “Never really done this.”

“Trust me. It isn’t. I thought maybe....” Dorian sighed. “Sorry. I’m a little drunk. What you must think of me.” He shook his head with an empty, nervous laugh.

“I think you’re handling it pretty good, what I can see. You’re not falling over, you’ve got a friend to talk to, you’re not in filthy sweatpants, you shaved today, and your house is clean.”

Dorian's eyes widened. “If I’d known there were to be field inspections I would’ve scrubbed the toilet.”

“Sorry,” Bull mumbled. Damn, he was shitty at this. “I mean, I been through some shit of my own, and so have some of my crew. I know what it’s like. I should’ve done more to help, and I made the whole thing worse.”

Dorian nodded, his lips pressed together tightly. “I see. Well. As you say, I’m managing.” He waved vaguely at the kitchen. “No need for you to feel guilty.”

Something was wrong. Like, really wrong. “Fuck, no, Dorian. Damn. No. I came back because -”  _ because I was scared I would lose you and where the fuck did that thought come from?  _ Suddenly the unidentified emotion, the thing that buzzed under his skin alongside the worry, had a name: fear. He couldn’t admit that, though, could he? Bull drummed up a substitution. “- because I  _ care.” _ It was close enough, true enough.

“Ugh,” Dorian groaned, setting his water down so he could wipe his face with his hands.

It was not the reaction Bull was expecting. This whole thing was rapidly becoming a shitshow. “What, you don’t believe me?”

“No. On the contrary, I have full faith that you do, indeed, care, because you care about everyone. You’re a caring person. And that's wonderful, and lovely, and -” Dorin cut himself off. The effect of the wine was easier to detect -- his words were a bit mushy and slow. “Sorry. Sorry.” He took a deep breath. “It was very thoughtful of you to come back and check on me.” He said it calmly and deliberately. The implication was clear: Dorian might’ve believed that Bull cared, but not that he cared specifically about him. 

And the hell of it all was, Dorian was right. Bull would’ve cut his trip short for any of his crew or close friends, if he thought they needed him. He wouldn’t even blink, he’d just do it. The only reason he hadn’t done that in the first place was the vague sense that it wasn't the right thing to do 

There was a long pause, in which the tension skyrocketed. Dorian wasn’t looking at him again, staring at the fish in the sink. Bull sighed. “Why do I get the feeling we’re not having the same conversation?”

Dorian gave a humorless chuckle. “Blame the Aggregio, if you like. They didn’t have any ‘37 at the store. I had to get a ‘38, which is rubbish.”

Despite himself, Bull snorted. Dorian raised an eyebrow. 

“Sorry,” Bull apologized. “Long story.”

“Mm,” Dorian said, going back to his examination of the fish. He poked the plastic bag experimentally. “How am I to cook these, then?” His voice was calm, almost disinterested.

“Stuff ‘em with fresh herbs and lemon slices, little shallot, then wrap them in parchment paper. Little butter, little wine, bake at like 375, 400 for 15 minutes.” Bull recited the instructions automatically.

Dorian nodded, still not looking at him. “Rice?”

“I’d go with roasted potatoes, actually. It’s kinda rustic for rice.” Bull wasn’t sure what alternate universe they’d just been transported into, but damn if it wasn’t easy to talk to Dorian about food. Shit, in the midst of this -- was it a fight? -- they were still finding ways to connect. It made no sense. It made no fucking sense at all, and it felt amazing and horrible at the same time, and Bull was fucking it up.

“Perhaps a rosé, then,” Dorian mused. 

“Look,” Bull said, gripping Dorian by the shoulders. “Look, I came back because I was scared. I’m still scared. I don’t know how to do this but I want it, I want  _ you, _ and I messed up and I want to fix it so you’ll give me a chance, but I can’t fix it. I can’t fix it because I didn’t break it to begin with, and I’m frustrated and worried and yeah okay I do feel guilty, a lot guilty, and I’m kinda freaking out here.”

The tirade forced Dorian to look up at him, blinking owlishly. “You  _ really  _ don’t know what you’re doing, do you?” He laughed. He  _ laughed,  _ and it sounded  _ real.  _

The chokehold of dread began to ease up from Bull’s throat. “Not a fucking clue,” Bull said.

Dorian laid a hand on his arm. “This is what you were supposed to do.” He spoke with exaggerated patience, the wine slowing his words and knocking off the hard edges of his consonants. “You were  _ supposed  _ to transform that fear into resentment, when I sensed something was wrong but couldn’t call you on it. You were  _ supposed _ to leave in a huff, with the knowledge that you did the kind and caring thing. After all, how  _ dare _ I be so suspicious and ungrateful? And then, you were supposed to be standoffish for the next few days, while I convinced myself that I really  _ was _ in the wrong for not reacting appropriately.”

Dorian took a sip of water and held up his hand to pause the proceedings. He leaned forward with a conspiratorial air. “My special touch at this point is to convince myself I don’t deserve better. That's just a bonus, though - not strictly required.” His aside concluded, he continued with his lecture. It was like listening to Attenborough narrate some exotic mating ritual. “Once I’d stewed in my own debasement, I would have reached out to you, all apologies, and you would presumably have forgiven me, assuming you hadn’t found someone who could match my prowess in bed in the meantime. And suitably assuaged, we would’ve had sex, and I would have faked my enthusiasm because I could still sense something wasn’t quite right. I say, do you want to write this down? For future reference?”

“Fucking hell,” Bull swore, leaning on the counter. “Seriously?” He felt dazed, like he’d been suckerpunched.

Dorian's answer was a wry smile that tore a hole in Bull’s chest. 

“Damn,” Bull said. He almost asked why Dorian bothered. Except he kind of knew, at least around the edges. He’d been struggling to understand what it was about Dorian, why this was different. Bull had certainly craved sex from people, or companionship, sometimes both. But he never would’ve dreamed of putting up with the bullshit Dorian had described, much less actively participating. 

Until now. It was that tickle of fear, the one that had him twitching, the one that had him second-guessing and lying, doing all sorts of crazy crap. That was the difference. He’d never been afraid of losing anyone before. 

Bull slugged back his bourbon. “So, uh.” The tension had lessened, but not disappeared entirely. 

“If you’re asking what happens now, I’m afraid you’ve foiled my precognitive abilities.” Dorian had to try three times to say ‘precognitive’, laughing helplessly. He poured himself another glass of water.

“We’re off-script, eh?” Bull said. Well at least he wasn’t the only one who didn’t know what the fuck was going on. 

“Mmm,” Dorian nodded. “So I suppose I should admit that I’m also fairly terrified. I mean, I have been drinking, I might as well use it as an excuse for ill-advised honesty.”

“Get some use out of it, right?” Bull still felt off-kilter, but not in a bad way. More like he was just dizzy. The night had taken some wild swings, after all. “You want me to get out of your hair?”

“Oh sweet Maker no,” Dorian smiled. “No, I want you to stay. Very much. Probably too much. Pretend I didn’t say that.” He tapped the side of his nose and winked.

Bull pulled him closer, tucking Dorian against his side, an arm around his shoulder. “You always get this chatty and eloquent when you’re tipsy?”

“Oh yes. Shame I couldn’t get my hands on some ‘37,” Dorian tutted. “You’re not getting the full effect.” Tentatively, he slid one arm around the small of Bull’s back, and the other around his stomach, slowly turning in for a hug. 

It felt good, but not good enough to answer all the questions still swirling around. Like what the hell this relationship was, or where they were going with it, or if the twinge of fear would ever entirely leave Bull’s system. There were a fuckton of words still stuck in Bull’s throat, and even if he had the vocabulary to express them, he wasn’t sure if he had the courage. He tightened his arm around Dorian, hoping the sensation would ease the confusion. It didn’t; if anything it made it worse. But damn if Bull didn’t want to let go.

“Bull,” Dorian said. “I’m not sure how to put this -” he began. Before Bull could panic, Dorian continued. “- but you smell absolutely disgusting.”

It took a second for it to sink in, and then Bull started to laugh sheepishly. He’d driven straight from the boat launch. “Sorry. Shoulda gone home first.”

“You came right from camp?” Dorian said, leaning away. “When did you last shower?”

“Uh....” Bull looked up at the ceiling, trying to remember.

“Your pause speaks volumes.”

“How about this,” Bull proposed. “How about you lend me your shower, and after I clean up I make us a snack and we watch Chopped?”

Dorian raised both eyebrows, his mouth making a little “O” of surprise. It was fucking cute. “You watch Chopped? I would think a professional wouldn’t enjoy it.”

Bull snorted. “You kidding? I could watch Alex rip those pretentious douchebags a new one all day long.”

The sound of Dorian's laugh, the real one, the one where he was genuinely delighted, would never get old, Bull realized. 

“You’ve got a deal,” Dorian smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just FYI, you could also serve the trout with roasted fennel.


	13. Coffee and Dessert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull's not good at talking, but he gets some things right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did someone order fluff? Because have some fluff. Also, this is the longest chapter I've ever written, I think?

“You know, my dad had a name for that smile you’ve got, Chief,” Krem noted. “He’d’ve called it a ‘shit-eating grin’.”

“That’s kinda gross, Krem Puff.” Bull attempted to dim the wattage of his smile as he dropped a basket of wings into the fryer. Apparently daydreaming about Dorian came with a price, and that price was grinning like an idiot.

“Thinking about your ‘Vint? Coming home early helped, eh?” Krem was smiling now too, his attention on tossing a pan of Fra Diavolo.

“Go on, know you wanna say it,” Bull prompted. 

“What, that I told you so?” Krem added a portion of linguine to the pan and gave it a shake.

“You did. You did and you were totally right,” Bull said. “Owe you one, really.”

As shitty as Wednesday evening had started out, it had ended great. Dorian had fallen asleep on the couch almost immediately. Bull had fallen asleep too, waking up around three in the morning with a particularly obnoxious infomercial on the TV and Dorian draped on top of him. 

And then Dorian had woken up. Somehow in the process of trying to extricate themselves from each other they’d ended up having wordless couch sex, with Dorian rutting against Bull, whimpering into his neck. Bull had come in his shorts like a fucking teenager; the whole thing was hot as hell. Well, as hot as sex could be with some old lady shouting about non-stick pans in the background.

The shop had still been closed for cleaning on Thursday, so with an unexpected night off, Dorian had come over to his place for junk food and bad movies. His gaze had flickered only once to the wall by Bull’s workout equipment. Bull had removed the chain and covered the bracket with a Velvet Elvis he’d picked up at a street fair in Denerim ages ago. It made Dorian laugh, so that was good. And they’d had a great time. Dorian had never seen Mystery Science Theater 3000, so Bull was sure to give him a thorough indoctrination. By the end of the evening Dorian was wheezing with laughter, tears starting at the corners of his eyes. He hadn’t stayed the night, but he’d been upfront about it when they made their plans, so it wasn’t a disappointment. Bull was happy with a protracted goodnight kiss. 

The fact that it had turned into a goodbye blowjob was pretty spectacular too, with Bull pressed up against his front door, Dorian on his knees, finishing both of them off at the same time with his hands.

So yeah. Things were good. Really good, actually. Which was why, when Bull checked his phone on his afternoon break and saw ‘ _ Hey could you call when you get a chance?’  _ his heart basically stopped.

There was nothing about it that indicated anything was wrong, but all sorts of doomsday scenarios flashed through his mind. Maybe Dorian had decided he was too freaked out by the bondage thing? Maybe it was too much, too soon? Maybe he’d met someone else? Shit. Shitshitshit.

Bull debated for about half a second on whether to call now or wait till after his shift. “Fuck it,” he muttered, calling immediately. No way he’d be able to concentrate with that hanging over his head.

“Well that was fast,” Dorian said with a laugh as he picked up. “Aren’t you working?”

“What’s wrong?” Bull blurted out.

“Er, nothing? Sorry, god, I didn’t mean to make you think there’s anything wrong,” Dorian apologized. “I just had something to ask you.”

“Yeah, okay,” Bull said, knowing the tension still hadn’t left his voice. 

“Shit, sorry. It’s a good thing! I think. Anyway. Get to the point, Pavus. So, I find myself in need of a timpanist for our band. I don’t suppose you’d like to act as a ringer of sorts?”

All of the pent-up nerves twisted around into confusion. “What?”

“It wouldn’t all be timpani, there’d be other percussion as well of course. I only have one student with any skill and he broke a wrist. The other one is a lovely girl, truly, but, well, she’s a vocal major and, ah... her sense of time is not good, plus she can barely hold a stick. Anyway, I’m in desperate need, and since you  _ played a bit, ages ago- _ ” Dorian stressed the words with relish, “-I thought perhaps I might entice you to play with us?”

“You want me to play, with you conducting?” Bull felt a tingle of nervousness.

“If you’d rather not, that's fine,” Dorian said, in that tone of disappointment that no one can quite hide.

“No, no... I want to.” Bull was kind of surprised to hear those words coming out of his mouth. “Lemme just check if I can switch my schedule. Tuesdays, right?”

“Yes. You wouldn’t have to be at all the rehearsals. And the concert’s on a Friday in May. I’ll text you the date so it’s written down.”

“Yeah, okay. That sounds good.” Bull nodded even though Dorian couldn’t see it.

The kitchen door opened up and Dalish stuck her head out. “Quit blabbin’ with loverboy, we’re slammed in here,” she shouted.

“I gotta go,” Bull said into the phone. “We still on for Sunday?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Dorian said.

***

Saturday morning, it was Dorian's turn to buy Isabela coffee. “Isabela, you look simply lovely,” he said, rising to his feet and pulling out her chair. 

She gave a throaty laugh. “Am I in trouble? This is awfully polite, even for you.”

He tipped his head. “In my defense, I’m just trying to butter you up. I was going to ask how your five-some went. Is that what it’s called? Five-some? Ooh, you could call it quintercourse!”

“Whaaaaaaat,” Sera frowned, plonking down a pair of scones and a latte that Isabela hadn’t, strictly speaking, ordered yet. “You jokin’?  _ Five?”  _

Isabela raised her eyebrows and sipped her latte demurely, looking up at the ceiling.

“It was a trio of Orlesian harpie- I mean, ladies,” Dorian explained to Sera.

“Hey!” Isabela objected. “They weren’t harpies. They were old friends of Bull. Fleur said so.”

Dorian spluttered into his coffee. “Hardly. Bull met them that night. They tried to poach him right out from under my nose, while I waited for drinks. He pulled the ‘fake relationship’ chestnut out to get rid of them.”

“Really?” Isabela’s gaze was inscrutable. 

Dorian laughed. “I think he was just waiting for an excuse to use some dreadful pet names. Called me sugarbutt at one point.”

Sera melted into giggles. “Sugarbutt. Like it.” She wandered back into the kitchen, ignoring the pair of older ladies in the corner who were trying to get her attention. 

“Have you seen him again?” Isabela asked.

“Wednesday,” Dorian admitted. “And Thursday.” Saying it out loud felt dangerous. It had been a very long time since he’d seen the same person three times in one week. Even if two of those instances were not, technically speaking, dates.

“My my my,” Isabela drawled. She made a show of sipping her drink again.

Dorian sighed. “What?”

“Nothing,” she lied. “Just... you seem happy. Or, like you could be happy.”

“You sound like Cole,” Dorian griped.

“He that creepy blond from band? He calls Hawke ‘Champion’ you know, but he won’t say why. Freaky.” She shuddered. “Anyway, I take it you and Bull are....” She made a vague circular motion with her hand.

“Are what?” Dorian said pointedly.

“I don’t know - dating? In a relationship? Surely you’re not in fuckbuddy territory.”

Dorian made a point of rolling his eyes to cover the fact that he wasn’t quite sure. Part of him wanted to tell Isabela how understanding Bull had been, or tried to be, about his issues. But that meant opening the whole can of worms all over again, and he didn’t relish the idea of talking about his past. “If you  _ must _ attach a label, I suppose ‘dating’ would be most apropos.” 

Isabela snorted. “You’re practically inseparable.”

“Hardly. This week was... a fluke.” 

“A fluke. Wasn’t he supposed to be out of town?” Isabela somehow made taking a bite of her scone into a gesture of challenge.

“He... came back early.” Dorian muttered the last few words into his coffee cup.

Isabela hummed in interest but didn’t ask for details. “And you’re seeing him again... soon?”

“Sunday. Oh, that reminds me,” Dorian said. “I need to stop by the office and pick up sheet music. He might play in the band concert with us. I should get him copies ahead of time.”

The self-satisfied smug expression fell away from Isabela’s face, replaced by genuine surprise. “He’s joining band? Doesn’t he have to work?”

Sera slouched by with a fresh pot of coffee and filled his cup without asking. “This the pizza man still?”

Dorian nodded. “Said he might be able to change the schedule.” He frowned as Isabela and Sera exchanged a look. “Why? Is there something wrong with that?”

“First he turns down three spectacular Orlesians and now he’s shifting the roster around at work? I’d say he’s pretty serious about you.” Isabela sing-songed the words.

The insides of Dorian's belly flip-flopped in an alarming manner. He was quite skilled at avoiding the thoughts which would send that telltale spike of excitement and fear through his system. Isabela, however, had no such restriction. Regardless, that didn’t mean she was right. “What? No. It’s his restaurant, he can do whatever he likes, can’t he?” Dorian asked.

Sera snorted. “Never punched a clock, eh? Doesn’t work like that. Bull owns it, but Krem’s in charge. Big man works the line like any other grunt. Prep and fryer, mostly, hops on dishes sometimes. Shifting means someone else’ll have to switch, and then it might all domino down the line, right?” 

Dorian had only the vaguest idea of what Sera was talking about, but it was clear that it wasn’t as simple a task as Dorian had anticipated. His stomach did another somersault. “How do you know so much about it?”

“Widdle went to see the ovens.” Sera cocked her head toward the kitchen. “Loved it. Got along a treat with Grim.”

Dorian stirred some milk into his coffee, hoping by some miracle the topic would shift. 

No such luck. When he raised his gaze, both women were looking at him expectantly. “What?” 

“Honey, is it so hard to admit that you guys are crazy about each other?” Isabela’s face was softened with something that looked suspiciously like sympathy.

Dorian huffed in annoyance. “My dear, if one has no expectations, one cannot be disappointed.”

Sera kicked his chair. “Don’t be stupid, you. You’re allowed to like ‘im.”

“Who said I didn’t?” Dorian countered. 

Isabela sighed. “Fine. Be that way. Sweetie, I just want you to be happy, you know that, right?”

The sentiment cut a little too close, especially given that Dorian's stomach was only just settling from the somersaults it had been flipping. He concentrated on the swirl of milk in his coffee.

Luckily, one of the biddies in the corner got up the gumption to actually call Sera over. She heaved herself off the table where she’d been leaning. “Don’t knot your breeches, I’m comin’.”

After that, Isabela must’ve taken pity on him, because she launched into a play-by-play of her night with the Orlesians that was equal parts salacious and hilarious. There was no further talk Dorian's romantic life. His stomach ceased its acrobatic maneuvers, though it did become sore from laughing so hard at Isabela’s story. 

***

Bull made his way down to the basement before his shift on Saturday afternoon. He was early, but Krem was already there, taking stock in the freezers. “Cremisius Aclassi. Just the man I want to see.”

Krem raised an eyebrow. “This outta be good.”

“Hey, can’t I be glad to see the best kitchen manager in Haven?”

With a snort, Krem clipped the pen to his clipboard. “Well I know you’re not asking for a raise, so I’m guessing you need a favor.”

Bull held up his hands in mock defeat. “Any way you can shift the roster to give me Tuesday evenings off? I can still do lunch. And I can pick up Mondays.”

Krem squinted, scratching the back of his neck. “If you pick up Mondays, that’d put you here seven days a week.”

“It’s just for a couple weeks. Well, through May. Something came up.”

“Something came up so important that you’d give up every day off for the next, what, seven weeks?” Krem frowned and headed up the stairs. 

“I’m tough,” Bull shrugged, trying to sound casual. “If we can’t make it work, don’t worry about it.” They were gonna fucking make it work, though. No way he was gonna go back to Dorian and say he couldn’t do it.

Upstairs, Krem stroked his chin as he regarded the schedule scribbled on a big whiteboard. They stood for a moment, thinking. Bull gnawed his bottom lip. Maybe if Rocky could switch with him, but no - what if Stitches traded with Dalish, and then Bull could pick up that lunch shift, wait, no, that wouldn’t work either, because --

Krem grabbed the eraser and wiped out Bull’s name on Tuesday. “Well, that's done,” Krem said calmly after a second, going back to his clipboard.

“What about the hole on the line?” Bull asked.

Krem shrugged. “Chief, we love having you around, but we don’t  _ need _ you on Tuesdays. Or Wednesdays, to be honest. All you do is make it easy for the rest of us to slack off a little. Won’t kill us to pull our weight. And you’ve been working six days since the place opened. It’ll do you good to have a proper ‘weekend’. Specially now you’ve got someone to share it with.” He didn’t look up from his order, but Bull could see the smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

Bull could’ve objected. Maybe he should’ve. Maybe letting it slide would jinx the whole thing with Dorian, who knows. But he didn’t. “Thanks, man.”

“So what’s the big to-do, then? Taking a wine pairing course at the Winter Palace? Season tickets to the polo matches? His-and-his hot yoga?” Krem was grinning openly now.

“For your information, I’m gonna play in the little band he conducts up at the community college. He needs someone on the timpani.” 

Krem looked touched, though the expression quickly shifted back to impish. “Awww, you’re gonna bang the drums, and then bang the ‘Vint? That's so cute.” He batted his eyelashes.

“Shut up,” Bull laughed. “And yeah. You’re damn fucking right.”

***

Dorian opened the door promptly at nine, already laughing in delight. “I do so appreciate your punctuality.”  

“After that first night, it’s the least I could do,” Bull grinned. 

There was a moment of hesitation as Bull stepped over the threshold. Then they both laughed sheepishly and came together for a kiss, little more than a peck, really. Dorian wondered idly when those kisses would become second-nature, and then immediately squashed that thought.  _ Just be happy with what you have. _

“I brought dessert,” Bull held up a grocery bag. 

Dorian could feel that he was beaming a little too much, but he couldn’t seem to help it. “Did you? What is it?”

“Well I’d say it’s a surprise, but it’s gotta go in the freezer, so yeah. It’s ice cream and homemade fudge sauce.” 

There was something in the way Bull shrugged that pinged Dorian's radar. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say Bull was nervous. He couldn’t put his finger on it, exactly, but instinctively, Dorian began to worry. 

“Well,” Dorian said, hoping it sounded less abrupt than it felt. “Come in.” He led Bull into the kitchen, stowing the pint of ice cream in the freezer. He held up the half-pint jar of chocolate sauce. “Fridge?”

“Nah,” Bull said. “Counter’s fine.” He looked around the kitchen like he’d never seen it before.

Dorian dutifully set the jar on the counter. His pulse began to pick up. It was awkward. It shouldn’t still be awkward, should it? Shouldn’t it be easier by now? “So,” Dorian began, clearing his throat. “I hope you like -”

“Dorian.” Bull cut him off. “Hey. Can - can we talk for a few minutes?”

Dorian was facing the corner when Bull asked the question, so he had a second to piece together a non-threatening, warm smile. “Of course.” 

They went back to the dining room. Bull still wasn’t really looking at him, just shooting him slivers of glances as he cast his gaze about. Well. Dorian had seen that before. He steeled himself for what was coming.

“So, uh, you know, uh, I’ve said I’m not good at this,” Bull began, looking down at his hands. “And I mean, it’s not like - I’ve been monogamous before, it’s not like I haven’t,” he insisted. “But, you know. This... is a little different.”

Dorian wondered why on earth Bull had gone through the trouble to bring ice cream and fudge sauce just to break it off.  _ Maybe he thinks you’ll need the comfort. How thoughtful.  _ “Mm,” Dorian nodded, already leaping ahead to the end. He’d spent all day prepping for this date. Total waste of time and effort. Maker take it all.

Bull was still talking, though he was having trouble getting to the point. “I mean it’s not like, you know, it wasn’t so much -”

“Bull, it’s perfectly fine,” Dorian sighed, putting them both out of their misery. “You don’t have to tie yourself in knots. I understand.” He turned his head towards the doors out to the patio. It was supposed to storm later. Still, might be nice to get some fresh air.

“What?” Bull was squinting at him.

“Sometimes things don’t work out. I’m not so naive to think otherwise.” It was too hard to look at Bull, Dorian found. Safest to focus on the patio doors. Probably should wash them soon.

“No, shit no,” Bull grunted. Dorian was surprised by the sensation of Bull’s hands surrounding his own. When he looked down, Bull jerked his hands away. “Dorian. I’m trying to say....” He growled and took a deep breath. “Look. Are you seeing anyone else right now?”

Dorian blinked several times. Suddenly he wasn’t at all sure what was going on. “Er, no.”

Bull nodded and took another deep breath. “I... I’m not either.”

“O...kay?”

“And, uh, I’m kinda not planning on it.” 

Dorian's brain clicked into focus. “Are... are you asking whether I want to be exclusive?” He wasn’t quite successful in keeping the relieved, borderline hysterical laughter out of his voice.

“Uh. Yeah.”

He had two choices: give into the laughter bubbling up, or kiss Bull.

Dorian chose the latter. “Consider my dance card full,” Dorian murmured, cupping Bull’s cheek. 

Bull smiled back, the expression flickering across his face in fits and starts, finally establishing itself. If the smile was just short of goofy, well. Dorian didn’t care. “Okay then,” Bull nodded. 

Dorian leaned back. “Now I hope you’re at least a little hungry? I thought it would be fun to make maki rolls. Is that all right? I didn’t think you’d want a large meal so late.”

“No, that's great. I love sushi.” 

It was, in fact, fun. The awkwardness dissipated. Not entirely - but the unpleasantness had been replaced by a buzzing energy, which was far preferable. Especially when Bull reached over to thumb a possibly-nonexistent bit of sauce from the corner of Dorian's mouth. Dorian could hardly be helped for capturing the offending digit and then sucking gently.

Bull’s lips parted, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as he watched Dorian suck his thumb. “Damn,” Bull breathed, making it sound like a prayer. 

Dorian reached up and grasped Bull’s wrist, holding his hand steady so he could kiss each fingertip before once again sucking down, hard and sudden, on Bull’s index and middle finger. He hummed in satisfaction as Bull shifted in his seat.

“Fuck, that's so....” Bull grunted.

“So what?” Dorian said innocently, now turning Bull’s hand over and licking the inside of his wrist with the very tip of his tongue.

Bull tipped his head back with a short groan. “If I say sexy, do I lose points for creativity?”

Dorian laughed, a quick huff of breath. He nipped at the junction of Bull’s thumb and wrist. “Sexy works.”

“Doesn’t do you justice.” 

A bloom of heat spread through Dorian, landing mostly in his groin, though a not-insignificant amount lodged further up his chest. For the first time in a long while, the feeling was welcome. “Perhaps we should take this upstairs,” Dorian suggested. “Maybe I can expand your vocabulary.”

“Mm, that sounds good,” Bull smirked. “Though I hate to let all that chocolate sauce go to waste.” 

Dorian dropped Bull’s hand, laughing. “Something tells me you had ulterior motives, bringing dessert.” He stood up.

Bull shrugged innocently. “What, you mean that I purposely made it so I could slather it all over your spectacular body and lick it up? What kind of a guy you take me for?”

“One with a sweet tooth,” Dorian said. “It better not stain my sheets.” This was an empty threat. 

Bull grabbed him from behind, yanking his hips backwards to grind Dorian's ass against his cock. “Baby, if you think I’m gonna miss even one drop, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Still, they lay a bath towel down on the bed, just in case. It took a few minutes to get naked, mainly because they kept getting distracted with kisses, but eventually Dorian was on the bed, resting on his elbows as Bull unscrewed the jar. 

“May I?” Dorian nodded at the concoction.

Bull held the sauce out, grinning ear to ear. Dorian dipped a pinky in, watching Bull’s face as he sucked his finger clean. 

It would have been a far sight more seductive if he hadn’t blinked in surprise and squeaked a yummy sound, like a small child. It was barely sweet, a bitter blend of dark chocolate, cinnamon, and... “Is there coffee in this?”

“Kahlua, actually.” 

“My god, it’s so good,” Dorian raved, scooping out a bit more and popping it in his mouth. 

“You want me to go get the ice cream instead?” Bull smirked. When he didn’t answer right away, Bull laughed. 

“What? I’m thinking,” Dorian explained. “You shouldn’t have made it so tasty -- it’s all your fault.”

Bull leaned forward, setting the jar on the nightstand. He crowded Dorian into a kiss, lazy and slow. “Just wanted to make sure it was good enough to go with you,” he murmured finally.

“Forget the ice cream,” Dorian breathed. 

Bull was nuzzling along his jawline. “Good.” He reared up and grabbed the sauce, holding the jar high above Dorian's body. It was the thickness of honey, drizzling in a silky stream to Dorian's chest. Bull traced a serpentine line, tipping the jar up just as the chocolate slipped a bit below Dorian's navel. 

“Now the fun part,” Bull grinned. He followed the line from the bottom up, so that each swipe of his tongue brought him further up Dorian's chest. It was exactly the opposite of what Dorian had been expecting, and was all the sexier for it. 

Dorian couldn’t decide what was better: the feeling of Bull’s mouth, or watching the man practically devour him. When Bull finally began to lap at Dorian's nipples, first one, then the other, Dorian closed his eyes, giving in to the sensation.

“You like that?” Bull asked, reaching up to thrum over his nipple lightly.

Dorian nodded. “Oh yes. You - you can go harder, if you want.”

“Yeah?” Bull simultaneously pinched one and raked his teeth over the other. 

Arching up as far as he could, Dorian groaned. Bull began to flick at him with his tongue and god, it felt good. Possibly too good, as he found himself rutting against Bull’s thigh.

“Uh uh,” Bull said, stopping suddenly. He pushed himself up and moved his leg away. “Not yet. Still gotta taste that pretty cock.” 

Dorian whined petulantly, trying to cover his frustration with humor. “You’re so mean, making me wait.”

“You are such a brat,” Bull chuckled, reaching once more for the chocolate.

“I am no such thing,” Dorian objected. 

“Oh yeah? Then be a good boy and prove it.” 

Bull was busy drizzling chocolate along the base of Dorian's cock, which twitched noticeably at the words  _ good boy. _

Bull, being far too perceptive, of course noticed. He scanned Dorian's face with an intent expression. “I hit a nerve,” he stated.

“Er,” Dorian hedged. His cheeks felt hot.  _ For fuck’s sake, Pavus, pull yourself together. _

Bull’s eyebrows shot up in clear interest. “Maybe in a good way?”

The whole thing would’ve been easier had Dorian not found that being pinned in place by nothing but Bull’s gaze so damnably arousing. “Perhaps.”

“Nice,” Bull leered. “Always like a happy accident.” He leaned back over to put the jar back on the nightstand. But he stayed close, murmuring into Dorian's ear. “Maybe we can talk about that more, sometime. For now, you be good for me and let me clean all this mess up, okay?”

Dorian's cock twitched again. It was incredibly embarrassing, but somehow fitting. “Okay,” he whispered.

A moment later Bull’s tongue was lapping at him again. Normally Dorian would chafe at simply laying there, passive. It felt too selfish. But Bull had told him what to do, and Dorian did not want to disappoint the man. 

So he lay as still as he could. Which wasn’t very -- Bull seemed intent on driving him mad with teasing. He was all over the place - licking and sucking and scraping with his teeth, but never for long enough for Dorian's pleasure to focus. 

So Dorian squirmed, albeit fruitlessly. Bull had long since licked up every molecule of chocolate, he must have. But his tongue snaked out to the underside of Dorian's balls regardless.

“Ungh,” Dorian grunted, fisting his hands in the sheets. He drew his feet up, knees to his chest, hoping Bull would take the hint that it was time to fuck. 

“See? You can’t go five minutes without getting bossy,” Bull chuckled, pressing Dorian's legs down part way, so that his feet were on the mattress. “Thought you were gonna be good for me.” 

“Well - you - I didn’t think it would be so difficult,” Dorian fumed helplessly. 

Bull laughed, resting his forehead against Dorian's stomach. “Baby, if you think this is difficult, you got a lot to learn about being a good boy.” He looked up at Dorian with a smile in his eyes.

“Do I?” God, he never should have admitted he liked it. He’d only had one man say it to him before, ages and ages ago, before Rilienus, even. He’d muttered it over and over, along with a host of disgustingly filthy things. Dorian had come shamefully fast, whining as the man - what was his name? Jared? Jason? - had continued to fuck him into the mattress. Dorian didn’t realize there was anything to learn, per se. “Can’t you just....” 

The irony that Dorian could not say the phrase ‘can’t you just say it’ was not lost on him. He huffed and shook his head. “Forget it. You’re right, I was being bossy and selfish.” 

“Didn’t say anything about being selfish,” Bull said, his smile dimming a little. “And I like it when you’re bossy. It’s cute as fuck.” He reached up and tapped the tip of Dorian's nose.

“Did you just boop my nose?” Dorian frowned in mock outrage. 

“Nah, a boop is more like this -  _ boop,”  _ Bull said, doing the exact same thing, only adding the sound effect.

“Stop that this instant,” Dorian laughed, batting at Bull’s hand. “Do you want sex or not? Or is this some perverse edging technique I’ve not heard of?”

Bull collapsed into laughter; the bed shook with it. Without warning he rolled them over, Dorian squawking in surprise as he found himself on top of Bull. After a second to regain their balance, Bull gave a friendly smack on Dorian's rump. “Okay bossypants. We can have sex.” He looked up at Dorian with a calm, expectant expression, but didn’t move. 

Dorian blinked. “What - you - you oaf!” Dorian grabbed a pillow and smacked Bull with it. “You’re not allowed to just lie there!” 

Bull chuckled. “Well then tell me what you want, little brat.”

Dorian almost said  _ I want to make you happy.  _ Almost. But the night had been nearly perfect, and he didn’t want to risk ruining it with an overabundance of emotion. They’d already come a long way - why take the chance? “I don’t care what you do, but if I’m not having trouble remembering my own name within the next half hour, you’re doing it wrong.”

“Alright,” Bull drawled. “I can do that.”

And sweet Maker, did he. In short order, Dorian was perched on the side of the bed as Bull knelt on the floor. He’d worked two fingers into Dorian's ass and was sucking his cock at the same time. Dorian did, indeed, lose the ability to form words, whining and trembling. 

It was getting difficult to hold back. His body jerked, and he grabbed Bull’s shoulder in warning. Bull pulled his lips away from Dorian, bringing his other hand up to stroke, firm and fast. He watched Dorian's face. “Yeah?”

Dorian nodded, gulping air. It was an unfamiliar sensation from his own hand, a different rhythm, just enough to keep him hanging on the edge.

“You gonna come for me?” Bull asked, his gaze not leaving Dorian's face. “That’s it, baby. You’re gonna be a good boy and come. Give it to me, come on now. That's it. Good boy. Come on my fingers. Oh yeah,” Bull growled in approval as Dorian's orgasm tore through him.

Dorian was still panting as Bull slid his fingers out, though his other hand was still cradling Dorian's twitching cock. “Damn, that looks good enough to eat,” Bull said, regarding the spend dripping down his fingers. 

Dorian flopped backwards on the bed, laughing weakly, glad for the joke to cover the intensity of the moment. He felt scraped raw and reeling in the best possible way. “Didn’t you already have dessert?”

Bull wiped his hand on the corner of the towel and clambered up on the bed. “Fair point.” He laid down next to Dorian. 

“I, however,” Dorian said, sitting up. “- did not.” He reached for the half-empty jar of chocolate with a smirk. 

Bull grinned and put his hands behind his head. “Help yourself.”

“Oh, I intend to.” 

***

The following morning, Bull snuck downstairs before Dorian was awake. He’d spent enough time in Dorian's kitchen to figure out where things were, in general terms. The coffee maker was right on the counter, so that was easy enough. And the coffee itself was in the cabinet above, along with the mugs. So far, so good. But where the fuck were the coffee filters?

He’d opened every cabinet and drawer at least once. It took a while because he was trying to be stealthy. Maybe Dorian was out of filters? That didn’t seem likely. The guy was fastidious, not the type to run out of something.

Bull’s skill at staying silent apparently wasn’t high enough, because after a few minutes Dorian appeared in the doorway, shirtless, his silk pajama bottoms slung low on his hips. He leaned against the doorframe, smirking. “Looking for something?”

“Yeah, the damn coffee filters. Wanted to bring my boyfriend some coffee in bed before he woke up.” Bull tried to say it with a straight face, but he couldn’t help but grin a little.

The smirk on Dorian's face melted into something much warmer. “Your boyfriend, eh? Sounds intriguing.” He sauntered forward and lifted the plastic cover off the basket, pulling out a reusable mesh filter. 

“Fuck,” Bull laughed. “Didn’t think to look there.” He came over and wrapped an arm around Dorian's waist. Dorian slid easily into the embrace, lifting his chin for a kiss, which Bull was only to happy to provide. 

“Damn, Dorian,” he said, sliding his hands over the globe of the man’s silk-clad ass. “Never saw the point of pajamas before, but you’re making a real good case for ‘em.”

Dorian hummed happily, grinding just a little against him. “I can’t imagine it would be easy to find a pair that would fit you. What kind of an inseam do you have, anyway?”

“Forty inches.”

“Sweet Maker.” Dorian's eyes went wide. 

Bull grinned and stole another quick smooch. “Coffee?”

“Yes please.” 

Bull busied himself with the coffee while Dorian wiped off the patio chairs outside. “It’s almost hot in the sun,” he said when he came back in. “I daresay it will feel like summer soon. Well, what passes for it down here, anyway.”

Mugs full, they made their way outside. It was fucking gorgeous out, the sun just hitting the patio, the azaleas glinting with drops of dew. Bull hadn’t really seen it during the day before. It was obvious that Dorian was a hell of a gardener. No wonder he wanted to spend so much time outside.

“I suppose I should rise above my petty desire to instagram our coffee mugs,” Dorian sighed. “I was fairly certain when I woke up that I was thirty-two, not nineteen.”

Bull grinned. “Only if you tag me,” he said. “Don’t want someone else taking the credit.”

Dorian pulled out his phone and fiddled with it, lining up the shot. “I didn’t realize you were so proud of your coffee-making skills.”

“Wasn’t talking about the coffee.” 

For a second, Dorian froze, his focus still trained on the coffee. “You should be careful. A man might get used to hearing such things.”

“That’s kinda the point.” Bull held out his hand. After a brief hesitation, Dorian offered one of his own. Bull kissed his knuckles, watching his reaction. “Or am I doing it wrong?”

Dorian's expression was difficult to parse. “No. Not at all.”

“Good. Can I see?” He nodded at the phone.

There was a shot of two coffee mugs, the garden in the background, a sunflare in the corner. “Nice.”

Dorian acknowledged the compliment with a tilt of his head. He looked up at Bull one more time, then smirked and began tapping out a caption. “What’s your username?”

“By the horns, all one word,” Bull grinned.

Dorian sighed. “Of course it is.” He slid his phone into his pocket and picked up his mug. 

The morning flew by way too fast. They made breakfast together, dancing around each other in the kitchen. Since it wasn’t a special occasion, they stuck to their normal morning meal: a three-egg omelet with veggies for Bull, and a single poached egg, one slice of organic toast, and half a grapefruit for Dorian. 

Bull made a mental note to get a loaf of organic bread and some grapefruit for his place. Just, you know, to have.

And then it was time for Dorian to get ready for work. He pressed a stack of sheet music on Bull, along with a half dozen kisses, each of which were ‘just one more for the road’. Fuck if it wasn’t cute as hell. 

When Bull got home, he checked his phone, pulling up Instagram. Sure enough, there was a tag notification for the picture Dorian had taken. The caption on the photo read:  _ @bythehorns is definitely not doing it wrong. Not my first rodeo, but if this keeps up, it might be my last.   _

***

 

**Author's note: I ordered a commission from the fantastic SarahWhat on tumblr! It is basically the most perfect thing I've ever seen, so I wanted to share it with you.**


	14. Rehearsal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull attends his first rehearsal with Dorian conducting. Dorian takes the lead afterward as well.

As always, there was a localized area of pure chaos centered around the rehearsal room just before band that Tuesday. Dorian had hoped to meet Bull when he arrived, but one of the students had lost her music, no one could find the racks of music stands (who wheeled them into the theater pit, honestly?), and Evan had once again jammed the mouthpiece of his trombone. 

So Dorian swept into the rehearsal room just under the gun and frazzled, as usual. Bull was already there, looking perfectly at home, shifting around the percussion equipment to make room for himself. Melissa, the other percussionist, was already chatting happily at him. Dorian should’ve known Bull wouldn’t need help with introductions. 

He looked up as Dorian made his way to the carpet-covered riser at the front of the room. He gave Dorian a little smile which had absolutely no business pinging into his chest with such force. Dorian smiled back, attempting to cover the no-doubt lovestruck expression with a normal friendly grin.

Hawke burst out laughing; apparently Dorian was lacking subtlety. No matter. “Alright children,” Dorian called out. “For the love of all that's holy, get it together, will you?”

The sounds of last-minute practicing and chit chat died down. “Rehearsal order,” he announced. “Grainger, Marquez, and if your chops aren’t shot, we’ll end on the Whitacre.”

The sounds of music being shuffled filled the room. “One other thing - we have a new member. Mr. Ashkaari graciously agreed to fill in for poor hapless Kyle. That's him in the back, can’t miss him as he’s basically blocking out the sun. Bull, give us a wave, will you?”

Bull grinned and waved at everyone. Dorian kept his eyes on his stand, pretending to look over the scores. If he looked up, he would surely blush.

A familiar voice rang out. “Is it hot in here, professor? You’re looking a little flushed.” A nervous titter wafted through the students at the remark. No student would dare talk to him that way, but the community members were allowed a certain familiarity. Hawke abused this privilege like it was his job.

_ Fucking Hawke. God fucking damn him to hell.  _ It wasn’t that Dorian was purposefully hiding his relationship with Bull, just that it wasn’t exactly anyone’s business, was it? “Of course it’s warm in here, Garrett,  _ you’re _ here,” Dorian called back in a bored voice. “Let’s tune, please, Cole.” It was a minor breach of etiquette to have the clarinet give the tuning note, but Cole’s intonation was always perfect, so Dorian chose to ignore the tradition.

Tuning concluded, Dorian lifted his arms, baton poised. “Molly on the Shore, from the top.” He gazed out to make sure everyone was ready, catching Bull in his peripheral view, standing behind the timpani in perfect resting posture, hands crossed at the waist. 

He gave the pickup and the lower woodwinds came in on the downbeat. A measure and a half later Cole began to play, setting up the main theme -- a lilting, tripping dance, based on a traditional folk tune. He sounded good, as always. Dorian began to relax into the music. A few measures before the timpani was due to come in, he looked up automatically, readying to give a cue.

Bull was already in position, watching him, his face the model of confident attention. Dorian didn’t need to cue him, but he did anyway, mostly for consistency’s sake. 

Dorian relaxed further, now fully immersed in the music. He called out various sections as they played, not bothering to stop. “Watch the accidentals, horns. Cornets, tuning please. Accents, people, those are supposed to be accented.”

They spent forty five minutes hammering out some of the trickier runs before moving on to the next piece. “Marquez, Danzon Number 2,” Dorian announced. “Everyone please switch your mindset from stodgy folk music to Latin dance. Think sultry, people, or at least fake it.” He grimaced as a thought occurred to him. “Melissa, I don’t suppose you had a chance to explain to your new partner when we’re going in and out of cut time?” 

“Uhh....” Melissa bit her lip.

“It’s okay. I can follow along,” Bull said. “You want me on congas or the drumkit?”

Dorian slapped his forehead. Of course Bull couldn’t cover both. “Hold on,” he said, flipping through the score. “Can’t I clone you?”

Hawke snorted. Loudly.

“You’re fired, Garrett,” Dorian said, not looking up. He said that about once a rehearsal. Hawke could be such a little shit. “I want to say congas.” Dorian squinted at Bull. “But I really want those snare hits, too. What do you think?”

“I can do both,” Bull nodded seriously. “Gimme a sec.” He turned and began shuffling the equipment around.

Privately, Dorian doubted Bull would be able to actually accomplish it, but he certainly wasn’t going to stop him from trying. “While he’s apparently arranging for another limb to be grafted on so he can play everything at once,” Dorian said, “let’s start at the top, shall we?”

It wasn’t so much that Bull was able to finish re-arranging the snare drum in time to make his entrance. Or the fact that he did, by some miracle, manage to cover the most important bits of two percussion parts at once. It wasn’t even the fact that the addition of competent percussion kept the rest of the band in time - not just in time, but having fun. Once the congas came in, people began to loosen up, sway in their seats. They were still missing every third note, but it sounded  _ good. _ Fresh and fun and new.

But none of those things were what set Dorian's heart zooming. It was Bull’s smile, like the one Dorian had seen at the Redoubt, but now that smile was for  _ him, _ for the music they were making  _ together. _

Eventually it all fell apart, at that one tricky section right before the trumpet solo. Dorian cut them off. “Well, that's the furthest we’ve come since the beginning of the semester. I think we all owe Mr. Ashkaari a round of applause for some excellent playing. Truly, just what we needed.” He clapped politely, the rest of the band joining in. Dorian was smiling too much, and he was definitely flushed. He could feel Hawke smirking at him, but he did not give even one shit, too wrapped up in the smile Bull gave him in return.

***

Bull had arrived twenty minutes early for band, way more nervous than he had any right to be. Granted, it had been about twenty years since he’d played in a concert band. And he only got the music yesterday. And he’d never played for a scorching hot conductor that he’d most likely be bedding later. 

Okay so, maybe a  _ little _ nervousness was called for.

Dorian wasn’t in his office, so Bull went to the rehearsal room. It was a mess. Chairs all over the place, not a music stand to be found, kids wandering in and out checking their phones. The percussion equipment was jammed into the back corner without rhyme or reason. 

“What the fuck,” he muttered. He started pulling things into place, trying to remember how they’d set things up back in college. Bass and snare, cymbals, the tables for the mallets and handheld instruments, over here the timpani, chimes, and marimba. He’d gone over the music Dorian had given him in detail, listening to most of the pieces several times with the music in front of him. Thank fucking god for Youtube. He did not want to look like an ass in front of Dorian. 

A coltish girl with ashy hair sidled up to him. “Um?” she said.

“Oh, hey. You must be Melissa. I’m Bull.” He held out his hand. She blushed and shook it tentatively. “Dorian asked me to fill in for Kyle. How do you normally set up?”

“Uh,” she shrugged. “I dunno? Just kind of... you know.” She waved vaguely.

Bull nodded, trying not to let any frustration show. “Okay, well, let me show you what I did, and you tell me what we need to change, sound good?”

When Dorian walked in, Bull could feel it. He glanced up, hoping that the sight of the man would ground him a little. 

It just made things worse, somehow. Dorian seemed frazzled, yet there was this aura of confidence around him. Like he was in his element or something. Bull grinned all dumb and goofy, and Dorian smiled back. Fuck, he was so beautiful. 

And he just got more beautiful as rehearsal went on. When he picked up the baton and gave the downbeat, Bull’s heart skipped a little. It was like... it was like magic, or something. The band was mediocre, but Dorian conducted like they were the fucking Val Royeaux Philharmonic. 

Bull had gone into the rehearsal wanting to impress Dorian. After about fifteen seconds, that stopped being an issue. He didn’t want to impress Dorian to make himself look good; he wanted, no,  _ needed,  _ to prove himself worthy. Dorian had this regal presence; the casual snobbery that he wielded like an inside joke everywhere else suddenly made sense. And it wasn’t a joke, not here. His authority here was absolute; the casual joking with Hawke was an allowance for their benefit, not a sign of weakness. Everyone in that room was balls to the wall, fighting for his approval.

So hell yes Bull was gonna cover that damn snare part. Fuck yeah he was on top of his game. And shit, did it ever feel good to play again. Better even than with Barris. That was fun; this was the kind of thing he used to live for. When Dorian smiled at him as he nailed the conga part, Bull felt like he was floating a little.

They finished the Marquez with ten minutes to spare. Dorian looked around with a small grin. “What do you think, children? Shall we run the Whitacre?” 

Bull was kinda surprised. It had been a challenging rehearsal. Calling a tune this late, when everyone was tired and crapped out was kind of a dick move. But there was a strange jolt of energy that went through the group; people who were drooping perked up. No one seemed to mind, so Bull certainly wasn’t going to object.

He did get a little nervous, though. He hadn’t gotten the chance to listen to this piece. All he knew was that it was slow and there was barely any percussion to speak of. He glanced at Melissa. 

“I play cymbal in this one,” she offered.

Bull took a deep breath and nodded. There were precisely two cymbal crashes in the whole piece. “Alright then,” he said. Not that he couldn’t handle covering everything else - there was a section of chimes, and one timpani roll, then more chimes. Simple enough, as long as he could count the rests and come in correctly.

“We all set back there?” Dorian looked back to the percussion section. His eyes were very bright.

“Ready,” Bull rumbled, picking up the hammers for the chimes.

“Alright.  _ Sleep, _ everyone. From the top.” He held up his baton.

It was obvious within just a few measures that the piece was a favorite in the group. It wasn’t technically challenging, not compared to the others. But the harmonies were complex, crunching together in dissonance before resolving, the melody shifting in and out of every section in turn. Bull managed the first section of chimes without getting lost. He moved over to the timpani, awaiting his cue, watching Dorian. 

As the music swelled, Dorian's eyes fell shut, though he continued to conduct perfectly, his lips moving as if he were singing. The brass carried them through a chorale that grew and grew and  _ grew,  _ all of them swept up in it, almost this holy thing. Even Hawke looked intent. Bull almost missed the timpani roll, too wrapped up in the shivery way his skin started to tingle in reaction to the music. At the last second he caught his entrance, just as Dorian opened his eyes, putting his hand over his heart, the tip of his baton shaking ever so slightly as the sound climaxed.

Then it began to die away by inches. Dorian's face was exultant, almost an echo of how he looked in bed, vulnerable and powerful at the same time. The musicians struggled to play quieter, dropping out one by one, until Dorian was conducting what seemed to be silence. Finally his baton went still, though it was still poised in mid-air. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath. Dorian lowered the baton. In a very quiet voice, he said, “Good job everyone. See you next week.”

As a whole, the band slumped, shaking off whatever spell Dorian had seemingly cast. Within a few seconds everyone was taking their instruments apart, chatting merrily. 

Bull felt like he’d been kicked in the head. He felt a little dizzy, both exhausted and keyed up beyond belief. Dorian was busy with some of his students, so Bull tidied up the gear while he waited.

The room gradually cleared out, though a few stragglers remained when Dorian finally came over. “What do you think? You want to come back next week?” His eyes sparkled.

_ Next week and the rest of my life, maybe. _ “Yeah,” is what Bull actually said, still not sure he could form more than a few words. How were all these kids just able to brush off the intensity of what just happened? Maybe it was just him?

The blond clarinetist came up to him, moving with surprising agility for such a gawky kid. “You’re very good,” he said without preamble. “You hit the things but they like it.”

Dorian beamed at him. “Bull, this is Cole.”

“Hey, kid. Nice job on the uh, everything.” Bull held out his hand. 

Cole stared at it for a moment, blinking. 

Bull realized maybe there was a bit of an issue in terms of social cues. “Would you like to shake my hand?”

“It’s a friendly greeting,” Cole intoned seriously, shaking Bull’s hand firmly. 

Dorian laughed. “It is, Cole. It very much is. I’ll see you Monday, yes?”

Cole stared at him. “Yes. I’ll be here. You’ll be happy, I think.” He turned and left.

Dorian watched him waft out of the room. “Is it selfish to wish he’d stay here forever? He’s just so talented.” 

“Yeah he is,” Bull agreed. “So, uh....” He looked at the half-dozen or so people that were still milling about, pretending they weren’t watching him.

“Yes, I’ll get you the rest of the parts you need, they’re just in my office,” Dorian said loudly. 

Bull followed him out, ignoring the disappointed looks he was getting. Well, they’d figure it out eventually.

Once the door to Dorian's office was closed, he pulled Bull into a kiss. “Hello.”

“Hey,” Bull breathed.

“Everything alright?” Dorian frowned in concern.

“Yeah. That was. Uh. Just more intense than I was expecting.” Bull figured he might as well admit it. “In a good way.”

“Oh,” Dorian looked a bit confused, but not unhappy. “Well as long as you had fun.”

“Fuck yeah,” Bull smiled. He leaned down for a more serious kiss. 

There wasn’t much time to enjoy it. A few seconds later there was a pounding at the door. “Professor Pavus, are you in there?” Hawke yelled through the door. “I have a question about fingering.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Dorian said. “I’m allowed, right?”

Bull tilted his head back and forth. “Tough to say.” 

“Professor, I don’t know if I should be using two fingers or three to play a C sharp,” Hawke shouted from the hallway. “I need a demonstration.”

“Oh he is  _ asking  _ for it,” Bull laughed.

Hawke continued to pound the door. “Professor, how much tongue should I be using?”

Dorian pulled the door open. Hawke was mid-knock; he tumbled forward. Dorian pretended not to notice. “Oh hello, Garrett. Was there something you needed? I’m afraid office hours are closed for the day. Email me to make an appointment next time, won’t you?”

Hawke pouted as his joke was ruined. “You’re no fun.” He looked at Bull. “Why do you like him? He’s no fun.”

“Oh, he’s fun for me all right,” Bull clapped him on the shoulder as he walked out of the office. “Difference is, I know how many fingers to use, Champ. Say hi to Bela for me.”

They made their way to Dorian's car and climbed inside. Dorian put the key in the ignition but didn’t start the car right away, instead turning to look at Bull. “Thank you so much for doing this. You were phenomenal. I cannot believe you pulled off the Marquez -- that was spectacular.”

Bull shrugged, playing down the molten bloom of pride that welled up in this chest. “Happy to help. Forgot how fun it is to play in a band like that.”

“There’s nothing like it. I miss playing in an orchestra terribly,” Dorian sighed. 

“What about the one in Redcliffe?” Bull asked. 

Dorian shook his head. “That’s a union gig. And I’m not in the union. And before you ask, they keep ‘losing my paperwork’, so I can’t join.”

Bull frowned. “What the fuck is that about?”

“My father’s doing. I’m sure the paperwork would be found with all speed were I to return home and forgive him.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“Yes. Yes it is,” Dorian agreed. “Anyway, to happier matters - what would you like to do for dinner this evening?”

Bull glanced at the time. It was just before six. “That depends,” he smirked.

Dorian's answering grin was fairly naughty. “On what?”

“How hungry you are. It being all early and such, I’m just saying, fine by me if we, you know, kill some time.” Bull reached up and traced his finger over Dorian's bottom lip.

“I take it you have some ideas for pre-dinner activities?” 

“Maybe a few,” Bull admitted.

“It is terribly unfashionable to dine so early,” Dorian nodded seriously, starting the car and shoving it into gear. 

“Dreadful,” Bull agreed. “Gauche, even.”

In no time at all they pulled into Dorian's driveway. Bull’s hand had been busy in Dorian's lap for the entirety of the trip. Dorian was breathing a little hard by the time he put the car into park, and he launched himself at Bull almost before the vehicle had stopped moving. 

There was only so much that could be done in a car in daylight, and it wasn’t like they were teenagers anymore. Not that Bull minded a little discomfort, but he also didn’t want Cullen showing up again. 

Dorian must’ve had the same thought, because he regretfully pulled away. “Best get inside before I break some indecency statutes.”

With as much dignity and poise as could be mustered given they were both rock hard, they made their way into the house. Once the door was shut, it was like their first night all over again, only better, because now Bull knew exactly what to do to drive Dorian crazy.

“Is this what you had in mind?” Dorian gasped, grinding against Bull as he nibbled on one ear. “Because if not, you’re losing your window to take things elsewhere.”

“Better get you upstairs, then.” 

They clambered up the stairs, shedding clothes as they went. Both naked, Bull sat on the side of the bed, pulling Dorian in between his legs for a kiss. “Was thinking,” he murmured against Dorian's neck. “Maybe we could switch it up.”

“Ooo-kay,” Dorian said slowly. “How do you mean?” 

Bull pulled away. “Uh... no big deal if you don’t want to top, it was just a thought.”

“Oh! Oh you mean literally - hell, Bull, I was expecting you to pull out clown makeup or car batteries or something.” He sagged with relief. 

Bull laughed. “Now I feel bad, like I don’t have enough imagination.”

Dorian laughed a little as well, though it ended in a sultry hum. “So you want me to fuck you.” He smoothed his hands down Bull’s chest. “I can do that.”

“Kinda hoping you could.” More than hoping, actually. He’d been thinking about bringing it up for a while, but hadn’t gotten the chance. Seeing how confident Dorian was in rehearsal brought the desire to the forefront. 

Dorian's lips were brushing the shell of Bull’s ear. “Can’t say I haven’t thought about it.”

Bull let his eyes fall closed. “Yeah?”

“Mmm, yes. Whether I’d be able to make you fall apart as easily as you do for me.” His teeth dragged down Bull’s earlobe.

“Fuck,” Bull grunted. “What say we find out?”

Bull didn’t get the urge to bottom very often. It took him a while to get into it usually, so it wasn’t something he did with casual partners. Plus a lot of people got off on how big he was, wanted that feeling of him taking control, and he liked giving people what they wanted. 

But he liked this just as much -- feeling Dorian push him backwards on the bed. Dorian crouched to the side of Bull’s prone form, teasing him with kisses as well as lubed fingers circling his entrance.

“Fuck that feels good,” Bull groaned. 

“Does it?” Dorian's voice was innocent, but the finger that pushed into Bull suddenly was anything but.

“Ngh,” Bull huffed. “Yeah. Oh yeah. Damn. Can’t wait to have that sweet cock in me.”

Dorian chuckled. “Straight to the point, I see. You are a remarkably chatty lover, I have to say.”

Something about hearing Dorian say  _ lover  _ was incredibly hot. Or maybe it was the second finger. But before he could say anything, Dorian was talking again. “Maybe I should find a better use for that mouth, hmm?”

The way he was palming his own cock made his meaning clear. Bull twisted toward him, sucking Dorian’s dick into his mouth. 

Was it the best blowjob Bull had ever given someone? Definitely not. Hard to concentrate with Dorian moaning and fingering him open. But soon enough Dorian was pulling away with a gasp. “Careful.”

Bull licked his lips, breathing hard. “Damn, Dorian, I’m ready.”

Dorian was already sliding a condom on. Bull rolled over, shoving a pillow under his crotch. He felt Dorian press against him a second later.

“Oh,  _ fuck,”  _ Bull winced.

“Breathe,” Dorian reminded him. “There you go.”

There was nothing quite like the sensation of being stretched open. Bull willed himself to relax, breathing as deep as he could. Dorian continued to inch inside, shallow and sure. 

“Good?” Dorian smoothed his hands over Bull’s back.

“Just - steady.”

With a smooth motion, Dorian pressed all the way into him and held still. “Yes?”

Bull nodded, reaching back to hold Dorian’s thighs in place. “Yeah. Yeah.” Gradually he loosened his grip.

“Good,” Dorian gasped, immediately pulling back to thrust again.

“Fuck yeah,” Bull grunted. 

Despite Bull’s encouragement, Dorian tempered his thrusts by rolling his hips. Bull opened his eye. He could just make out the reflection of Dorian's head and upper body in the mirror above his dresser. “Fuck, that's hot,” Bull groaned. “Wish I could see the rest of you.”

With a shaky laugh, Dorian shook his head. “I’m afraid I’ll still have the better view. Roll over.”

Bull wasn’t going to argue. Took a second, but they shifted around so that Dorian was standing on the side of the bed, Bull’s calves resting on his shoulders.

Damn, this was good too. Seeing Dorian's face and feeling him press inside.... “Fuck, yeah. Don’t hold back.”

Dorian attempted a laugh. “I’d prefer to last more than thirty seconds, thank you very much. God, you feel good.”

For once, Bull had no words to respond. He couldn’t look away from Dorian. Just the way his abs were undulating as he thrust was hot. But it was nothing compared to his face. There was the vulnerability there that Bull had come to expect, but overlaying it was a confidence, a level of control, that was fucking incredible. 

That's not to say Bull didn’t want more. There was no way he was going to come from this, not without a hand on his cock. But that was fine. Good, even, because he couldn’t get distracted chasing an orgasm. “Hard. Don’t worry about me. Want all you got, big guy.”

Dorian's jaw clenched. He slammed into Bull.

It was perfect. “Fuck, yes. Fuck yes. Give it to me.” 

Dorian had different ideas. He alternated between relentless pounding and more gentle, teasing thrusts, all the while mouthing along Bull’s ankle and calf. “Touch yourself,” he murmured.

There was no mistaking that it was an order, issued with the same casual confidence that Dorian had when conducting. Grinning, Bull licked his palm and began to stroke his cock. It felt fucking unreal.

Dorian's eyes glinted. “Very nice. I want to feel you come, Bull. Come while I’m fucking you.” His voice was silky smooth, calm and controlled, just a hint of breathiness around the edges. 

“Fuck,” Bull groaned. He was getting there.

“Mmm, you’re always telling me to make more noise,” Dorian reminded him. “I think you should return the favor. Tell me how it feels, Bull.”

“Shit, it feels so good baby, so fucking good. Ungh, yeah. Yeah. Harder, baby. Fuck me hard.” Bull was babbling, he knew it.

Dorian's grin was almost evil, certainly mischievous. He pulled almost all the way out, just teasing with the tip. “Fuck me hard...” he prompted.

Bull laughed, almost giddy. “Please. Fuck me hard,  _ please.”  _ It was a mockery of begging, a shared joke more than anything. 

“Oh, that's a nice effort,” Dorian smirked. He slammed into Bull once, twice, then went back to teasing. “Very nice. But you can do better. Fuck me hard, please....” He raised his eyebrows.

“Wow, really going there, are you?” Bull laughed in disbelief.

Dorian's answer was to purse his lips in challenge. Without a word, he pulled out entirely. 

“Sir,” Bull said quickly. “Fuck me hard, please,  _ sir.”  _

“That’s more like it.” Dorian grinned and pushed back into him.

There was no more teasing after that. Not with the way Dorian gasped as he thrust. Not to mention the fact that the shift in position meant that Dorian was hitting the spot. 

Bull felt himself getting close. Real close. “Dorian. Gonna... shit, I’m gonna come.”

Dorian nodded, intent. “Yes. Yes.”

With a groan, Bull tipped over the edge, coming into his fist. 

Dorian's nostrils flared as Bull clenched around his cock. “Good. Oh,  _ Bull,  _ it’s good.” He rocked into Bull a few more times, bottoming out with a groan as Bull began to shiver with aftershocks. He collapsed against Bull’s stomach. After a second, he hummed. “Satisfactory, I hope?”

“Fuck yes,” Bull grunted, bringing his clean hand up to pet Dorian's hair. “I mean, fuck yes,  _ sir.” _

Snorting with laughter, Dorian pushed himself up. “Perhaps I got a little carried away.”

“Nah, I liked it. Liked it a lot, actually.”

“Me too, but now I’m famished.” Dorian rolled off him. “Dinner?”

“You got it.” Bull waited until Dorian was almost to the bathroom door before he added: “Sir.”

Dorian disappeared into the bathroom, laughing. “Sweet Maker, I’ve created a monster. I think I preferred the puns.”

“Don’t get  _ surly,” _ Bull called after him. A second later Dorian's hand appeared in the door, throwing a towel which hit Bull in the face. “What? That was a good one,” Bull protested. 

Dorian's face leaned into view. “No, changed my mind. Puns are worse.”

“Can’t take the  _ pun- _ ishment, eh?” Bull grinned.

“Just get in here and help me clean up,” Dorian sighed, rolling his eyes. 

Bull heaved himself to his feet. Another couple puns hovered on the tip of his tongue, but he saved them. With any luck, he’d be helping Dorian clean up again. Maybe a bunch more times. Maybe a lot more, enough to lose count even. There was a thought, a hazy warm vision of the future. He tucked it away. No point in getting ahead of himself. For now there was dinner, maybe a drink, perhaps a night wrapped around each other, and breakfast in the morning. That future, at least, was bright and crisp and easy to imagine. What a fucking amazing thing. Bull laughed to himself as he stepped into the shower. 

Dorian was already lathered up. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. Just happy.”

“Oh,” Dorian said. For an instant he looked - not confused, exactly, but a little shell-shocked. “Me too.” He grinned, shy and sweet. “I was thinking we could go to Lavellan’s.” He casually reached over and began to rub the soap in circles on Bull’s chest. “Maybe get a drink after. Would you like to stay? I bought a new Orlesian coffee that I’m dying to try in the morning.”

“Sounds good. It all sounds good.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Hope you like switching. Also, sorry for the delay - I got hit by a rarepair bug so I had to get that out of the way (Doristair, anyone?), and then my dog died, so I wasn't in the writing frame of mind. And of course by the time I did sit down to write, the chapter got completely out of control. 
> 
> Anyway! It's here now. Also, I finally got my ass in gear and [made a Spotify playlist for this fic.](https://open.spotify.com/user/somanyjax/playlist/4wvPRPt50bGtRBxlMvDk35) All of the music mentioned in the fic is included, if you're the type of person that cares about this stuff. (ETA: If you do listen, the lead saxophonist in 'Fables of Faubus' is the uncle of my childhood best friend. In high school, when he would visit my friend, he and I would play duets. Super talented guy and very nice to a budding musician.)
> 
> If you don't have Spotify, you can listen to [Molly on the Shore,](https://youtu.be/66wSECRpWIY) [Danzon No. 2,](https://youtu.be/PA7vEIj6Lzk) and [Sleep](https://youtu.be/bnuX-2SZmP4) on youtube.


	15. I Believe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talk of exes and home repair.

The sun was just setting as they got in the car, heading to Lavellan’s. Bull was feeling pretty good. Not surprising under the circumstances.

“I think this is the first time I’ve had sex before dinner,” Dorian mused.

“Oh, it’s the best way to go,” Bull grinned. “Work up an appetite, and you don’t have to worry about being sleepy or bloated, so you can eat as much as you want.”

Laughing, Dorian tipped his head. “That’s one way to look at it.” He pulled out of the driveway.

“Hey, I got a question for you. That last piece in rehearsal -- looked like you were singing.”

Dorian's face lit up. He didn’t answer right away, waiting for an opening in traffic on the main road. “I was. The work was composed for chorus originally - the text is quite lovely, really.  _ The evening hangs beneath the moon, a silver thread on darkened dune.... _ ” He began to sing the melody, his eyes on the traffic. Dorian warmed to the subject, prattling on about the lyrics and tone contrasts from the vocal version to the instrumental, singing phrases for emphasis. Traffic was heavy; his attention was on the other cars, otherwise he surely would have noticed Bull staring at him. It was almost as good as watching him conduct. He had no trace of self-consciousness, no walls, no wariness. 

Dorian continued. “And that climax! Ahh, so gorgeous. Gets me every time.” He gave up the pretense of explanation, simply singing the remainder, full voice, conducting along with one hand.  _ “As I surrender unto sleep, As I surrender....”  _ Dorian sighed. “It’s simply lovely, isn’t it?”

He glanced over at Bull, and his face immediately shut down -- not completely, but it was clear he was embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I got a little caught up. How rude of me. My apologies.” 

“Dorian. Don’t ever apologize for that. I like seeing you like this.” Bull reached over and grasped his knee.

“What, dominating the conversation?” Dorian laughed nervously. 

“No, all.... I dunno. It’s like you’re....” Bull tilted his head, considering. Dorian was so skittish when it came to compliments. 

“Oh, rendered speechless by my inability to shut up. That's a new one.” Dorian pulled into a parking space outside Lavellan’s and twisted away, ostensibly to unhook his seatbelt.

“Hey,” Bull squeezed his knee, holding him in place. He lifted his hand and turned Dorian's chin, then leaned in for a kiss, a simple press of the lips, nothing more. “Hey. It’s beautiful.  _ You’re  _ beautiful.”

“Oh,” Dorian said, blinking in confusion. “Oh.” 

It wasn’t exactly what Bull had been trying to say. So Bull kissed him again, tender and slow. Maybe he couldn’t quite put it into words yet anyway. 

And maybe it was good enough. Dorian's eyes were a little wild when he pulled back. Bull grinned and unfastened his seatbelt. “Come on, I’m starving.”

They headed inside. Though there were half a dozen people lounging on benches in the vestibule, they didn’t have to wait for a table. Feynriel was at the host station. “Bull! You’re here for your reservation,” he grinned, pretending to consult the book. 

“Hey, thanks man,” Bull murmured to him as they sat. 

“No problem,” Feynriel winked. “I’ll tell Lavellan you’re here.”

“Do you know everyone in town?” Dorian asked, opening his menu.

“That works in a restaurant? Pretty much,” Bull admitted.

They’d just put in their drink orders when Lavellan came out to greet Bull. “Wow, coming in and sitting down? Not sneaking around my backdoor?” She winked broadly and put her hand on his shoulder with an easy familiarity.

Normally Bull would hardly notice the physicality; for all that Lavellan was gruff in her speech, she was free with her affection. But he was hyper aware of it now. Hard to know where the line was; Dorian had said he didn’t mind flirting, but his eyes had also tracked Lavellan’s hand even as his smile remained unwavering.

Maybe Bull was imagining things. “Lavellan, this is Dorian, my boyfriend.” Damn that felt weird to say. Weird and good. Really good.

Dorian smiled and held out his hand. “How do you do?”

Lavellan’s eyes went wide with surprise and laughter. She wiped her hand on her apron and offered it to Dorian. “Nice to meet you.” To Bull, she cocked an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you had a  _ boyfriend.”  _ She leaned on the word as hard as she leaned on Bull.

Bull was watching Dorian closely. He smirked and turned his attention to the menu, but it looked ever so slightly forced. He was uncomfortable. More ‘Vint bullshit, or maybe something else was bugging him, some old baggage. 

So Bull smiled at Dorian, warm and with a little too much awe for polite company. “Yeah, I do,” he said, and although the words were technically directed at Lavellan, he looked at Dorian when he said them.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Lavellan groaned, making a gagging sound. “I gotta get back on the line before you guys make me sick.” Without waiting for an answer, she trotted back to the kitchen.

“Something tells me the world’s not quite ready for The Iron Bull to have a boyfriend,” Dorian said to his menu. He glanced at Bull.

That explained it - no one wants to be a novelty, justifiably so. “Can’t think of anyone better for the  job.”

It took a second, but Dorian smiled, then pursed his lips. “Of course you can’t,” Dorian said. “I’m phenomenal.”

Feynriel chose that moment to return with two drinks. The only problem was, they weren’t the drinks they ordered. “For Bull and his  _ boyfriend,”  _ he said with a cheeky wink. “Lavellan insisted.”

Dorian stared at the martini glasses filled with something pale green. He was quite obviously trying not to frown. “How lovely. What is it?”

“Citron vodka, rum, midori, and a splash of lemon soda. It’s called Tie Me to the Bedpost,” Feynriel grinned as he scurried off. 

Without the waiter hovering, Dorian's face collapsed into a wince. He swallowed hard, then smiled way too bright. “Well. Cheers,” he said, lifting his glass.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, Dorian.” Bull grimaced, wiping his face. “You want to get out of here?”

“Nonsense. I’m not going to waste a perfectly good free drink, regardless of provenance.” He didn’t lower his glass.

“Dorian, you don’t have to -”

With a frustrated sigh, Dorian set the drink down again and leaned in close. “Bull. The waiters are all gathered behind your back, watching us. I’d rather not give them the impression that you’re dating a prissy ‘Vint who can’t take a joke.” He leaned back and put on another smile. This one was faintly naughty, like he’d said something illicit to Bull. It was also as fake as a three dollar bill, but Bull was probably the only one who could see that.

So Bull tipped his head, picked up his drink, and clinked Dorian's glass. They both sipped.

“It’s actually quite good,” Dorian said calmly, as if nothing had happened. “I don’t normally like Midori.”

Now that Bull was attuned to it, he could actually feel the walls Dorian was erecting around himself. Suddenly there was just less of Dorian present, some almost-tangible quality that had been locked away. It made Bull feel a little sick.

“Hey,” Bull said. He put his hand on the table, palm up. “I’m sorry.”

“Nonsense, whatever for?” Dorian was looking at his menu, pointedly ignoring Bull’s hand.

“Just because it’s not my fault doesn’t mean I don’t feel responsible,” Bull said. “But I kinda need to know you’re alright.”

Slowly, Dorian lowered his menu. He looked at Bull’s hand as if it had been the one speaking. Tentatively, he slid his own fingers across Bull’s palm. “I’m fine. Sorry. Just... not used to the attention,” he said, glancing around the room. “I feel a bit like a circus attraction. You know, ‘see the amazing Matador, who tamed the Iron Bull’. That sort of thing.”

The tension in Bull’s chest loosened. “Matador, eh? That's almost a pun.”

“Well I suppose you’re rubbing off on me. Oh sweet Maker Bull, ugh,  _ no.”  _ The last few words were in reaction to the wide and dirty smile Bull gave Dorian. 

“Anyway, you’re not really the first. I’ve been, you know, with just one person before. Just... been a long time. And it wasn’t exactly like this,” Bull said, pulling his hand away and gesturing at the table and drink. 

“No? I’m afraid I’m not following. Did you... not eat?” Dorian's grin was mischievous.

“Fuck, no, we  _ ate, _ ” Bull laughed. “It was... I dunno. I was young. Well, younger. When I was still in the service. Got assigned to... a job. With another agent. I called her Red. Fuck, she was incredible.” Bull took a deep breath, remembering Leliana. 

Dorian's smile softened. “I take it you can’t tell me about it or you’d have to kill me?”

“Something like that,” Bull said. “After the job was over we had a bit of time on leave. Spent all of it together. Definitely stupid, absolutely risky, totally against regulation. But HQ was half a world away, and I was crazy about her, didn’t care. I just wanted whatever I could get, even though I knew....” Fuck, it still kinda hurt, thinking about it. 

“That it wouldn’t last,” Dorian guessed. 

“Yeah.” 

Dorian nodded. “I had one of those once. Though mine was less  _ 007  _ and more  _ Before Sunrise.  _ Max Trevelyan. Brilliant, handsome, funny, spectacular cock....” Dorian's eyes glowed. “Well, you could say I have a type.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Absolutely.” Dorian lifted his glass again, now with a real smile.

“Well as long as he wasn’t a jerk to you, I’ll drink to that.” Bull raised his glass in a toast.

Dorian spluttered his cocktail. “Oh heavens no. No worries on that account,” Dorian said. “We parted on good terms. I still hear from him occasionally. He lives in Skyhold, the pampered husband of the Antivan diplomat. All very dashing.”

Feynriel appeared to take their order. Bull wasn’t sure if he should try to switch the topic of conversation. On the one hand, Dorian had hinted around about an asshole in his past, and Bull kinda wanted to know the details. On the other hand, it might not be something Dorian wanted to discuss in a restaurant.

The point was moot, as Dorian himself brought it up. “I suppose since we’re on the Dreaded Exes conversation you should know about mine,” he sighed wearily.

“Not if you don’t want to,” Bull assured him.

Waving him off, Dorian downed the remainder of his drink. “Now that I’ve got a title, might as well get it out of the way. And there’s really only one of import. Rilienus.”

Another Tevinter name. Bull nodded and gestured for him to continue.

“Actually, the details of the relationship are quite boring. It was more because of the time of my life, you see. Right after I’d left my father’s house.”

Dorian kept the details neat and concise; Bull had the feeling he’d told this story before, probably more than once. After Dorian had escaped, he’d made his way to Nevarra, then to Antiva, where his money had run out. He sold the car and was making a few bucks a day busking in the subways, earning enough to keep a bed at the hostel and eat, although not always both at the same time. Rilienus was at the university. Like Barris, he recognized Dorian. He’d insisted on bringing Dorian back to his apartment, and -

“Wait, hold on,” Bull interrupted. “How old were you, and how old was he?”

Dorian deflated a little. “I had just turned twenty. He was twenty-eight. In retrospect, it was larger of a difference than it seemed at the time,” Dorian sighed. “Anyway, it was all above board. Not some tawdry romance novel. He had an empty bedroom and helped me book a weekly gig at a coffee shop; I paid him rent and helped keep the place clean. He was too deep in research to be bothered with things. Not that I was very good at it either. I distinctly remember not understanding the difference between laundry soap and dish soap.” He shook his head ruefully. “The washing machine did, however.”

“So how did you get together?” Bull asked.

“It was... oh, six months later. Rilienus was - how do I put this - rather monastic in his habits. Now that I know the term, I suspect he was demisexual. But at the time, it wasn’t a concept I was familiar with. I was sleeping my way through the city, hooking up as I pleased. But I never brought anyone home, and I never missed the nights we had dinner together, or Sunday morning coffee. At first I thought he was doing the same, seeing people when we weren’t together, but no. And somehow it started to feel strange, having sex with others and coming home to him. Not that he disapproved, exactly. But there was some tension there....” Dorian's eyes tightened. “Also, he was very attractive. At the time, I wasn’t a fan of forbearance. So I got slightly drunk and slipped into his bed one night.”

“God forbid you talked about it,” Bull smirked.

“Pssh,” Dorian waved him off. “That’s your answer to everything.”

The food arrived and they tucked in. “So how did you get down to Ferelden?” Bull prompted. He’d heard a few things that had got his hackles up - the age difference, the whole Knight in Shining Armor thing, some implied mild slut-shaming - but so far there wasn’t any indication of things being that bad.

“Ah, the descent. Yes. Rilienus got accepted to a PhD program in Redcliffe a year after we met. As I had nowhere else to go, I followed him.”

Things were starting to click into place, especially given Dorian's reaction a few weeks ago when Bull offered to take care of him. Bull nodded. “Big change.”

“Yes,” Dorian admitted. “As you might guess, an established scholar of thirty with a young, barely-employed lover tagging along isn’t necessarily a recipe for lasting romance. And what was worse, suddenly it was more and more difficult to find apartments. All of the nice places required things like background checks and employment histories. Rilienus had been happy to have me around when it was easy, but when it got difficult....” He frowned, looking down at his plate. 

“You don’t have to say,” Bull reminded him.

“And skip the best part?” Dorian laughed bitterly, though there was some actual humor in there too. 

“There’s a best part?” Bull laughed.

“Of course,” Dorian smiled, rolling his eyes as he remembered. “The part where I thought I could fix everything. Specifically, by selling my cello and buying a dilapidated house in Haven without telling him. Because what  _ isn’t _ helped by a grand romantic gesture, right?”

Bull dropped his fork. “You what?”

Dorian gave him a tight grin. “You heard me. Sold my cello. The last thing I had to tie me to my home. Got enough to buy the place at an auction. Granted, it was a shitheap. But it was  _ my _ shitheap. Well, it was meant to be our shitheap. Somehow I hadn’t quite thought so far ahead to realize I would still need to pay things like property taxes and insurance. And then, of course, the housing market burst, and I couldn’t sell it.”

Bull was staring at him. “Shit,” he said finally.

“Yes, precisely,” Dorian said with a self-deprecating laugh. “It might have worked, actually. Except the problem with big gestures is you have to follow through. I wanted to show him I was a grown up, but I didn’t know the first thing about fixing houses. Not to mention home renovation being intensely stressful. He started working later and later, probably because the college had amenities like consistent running water. We were probably doomed at that point.” Dorian reached for his water glass. “Anyway, he was offered a research position at another university. He left; I stayed.”

Bull knew a lot about lying. A whole hell of a lot, actually. Made it easy to spot when someone wasn’t being honest. Dorian wasn’t  _ lying, _ exactly, but he was leaving something out, something big. It’d be risky to press him on it; Dorian’s body language was screaming “let’s change the subject.”

“Another university, huh?” Bull asked. 

Dorian sighed. “Minrathous,” he admitted. 

“Holy fuck,” Bull said, glancing away. He rubbed at his eyebrow just above the patch. “Your father pulled the strings?”

“I suspect so, but Rilienus, he... didn’t quite see it the same way,” Dorian said.

“Not liking the sound of that,” Bull growled.

“He was a good man,” Dorian insisted. “So good that he couldn’t fathom that my father would go to such lengths.”

“You mean he didn’t believe you,” Bull frowned. “About why you left.”

“He never said that,” Dorian shook his head. “I think - I think he believed I was mistaken.”

The puzzle pieces which had been sliding into place one by one suddenly all clattered together, and Bull could see the whole picture. Fuck, how desperate and lonely must it have been, stuck in the ass end of Ferelden with a lover who casually gaslighted him? “Makes it hard to believe in yourself.”

“Rather.” Dorian pushed the noodles around his plate. “Anyway,” he said, straightening his posture. “That's it, really. I stayed, enrolled at the community college here. I only had the one semester left. Once I graduated, they allowed me to stay on as an adjunct. The college owns a cello which is on more or less permanent loan to me. It’s nothing near as magnificent as my old one, but I make it work. And it took a long time, but I actually have some equity in the house now, and tenure at the college. I could sell, I suppose. But I’ve grown fond of the place, and besides, where else would I go?” He shrugged. 

Bull grinned. “Well you’ll never find a town with pizza as good as mine, so, you’d better stay.” 

“Unassailable logic,” Dorian agreed. He looked like he was going to say something else, then reached for his drink instead. “So, now you know the long and sordid saga, such as it is. Though every time I tell it I think perhaps I should embellish. Give Rilienus a meth habit or something. Spice it up a bit.” Dorian laughed. It sounded bitter and tinny.

“Nah,” Bull said. “Those are the ones that fuck you up the most, when you get hurt by someone who’s not, I dunno... evil. Makes it harder. ‘Cause yeah, maybe they’re not trying to hurt you, but you’re still getting hurt because of them. I dunno about, you know, how it is when you’re in love with someone like that, but I saw plenty of it growing up.” Bull shook his head. He hadn’t meant to go there. Not really dinner conversation, the foster care system. At least not the way he experienced it.

Dorian was staring at him with wide eyes. 

“Sorry,” Bull mumbled.

“Don’t be,” Dorian said quietly. The corner of his mouth twitched in amusement as the parallel from their conversation in the car came full circle.

“Anyone need any boxes? Dessert?” Feynriel interrupted the moment, but maybe that was a good thing. 

“I’m fine,” Dorian said, smiling easily. “You?”

“I think we’re good,” Bull nodded. 

They went back to Dorian's place. Dorian busied himself with opening a bottle of wine and selecting glasses. It was a dark and moonless night, so they got cozy in Dorian's living room. 

Bull sipped his wine, looking around the room with fresh eyes as Dorian hooked his tablet up to the stereo. After a moment some gentle acoustic guitar came through the speakers, a man’s voice accompanying it. Bull didn’t recognize it, but if Dorian liked it, it was probably pretty good. “So you fixed all this up yourself, huh? Shit, that's a lot of work.”

“It’s so gratifying to hear other people say it,” Dorian sighed happily. “Though if I had it to do over again, I’d have waited until youtube was invented. I had to learn a lot of things the hard way. Books only get you so far,” he noted. 

“What’re you most proud of?” Bull asked. He kinda liked listening to Dorian brag.

“Mmm, there’s a question.” Dorian took a pensive sip. “Probably the sump pump.”

“What?” Bull laughed. “You restored all this and that's what you’re proud of?”

“You asked,” Dorian reminded him. “And yes. The basement flooded about a month after I moved in. I’d only gone down there two or three times -- it was absolutely filthy, so I was avoiding it. We had a bad rainstorm one night, and then the next day our hot water ran out. Rilienus suggested I check the hot water heater, right before he left for work.” There was about a novel’s worth of backstory in the way Dorian said ‘suggested’. 

“Okay,” Bull said. “Not gonna unpack that now -- go on.”

“Yes, he had a way of getting under my skin. Anyway, I steeled myself to go into the basement. It was flooded, up past my knees, and well past the pilot light in the water heater, which had gone out. I didn’t even know where the water had come from. Plus it was just disgusting. There was all manner of trash floating in it - apparently someone had left several bags of garbage under the stairs. I distinctly recall almost vomiting when I saw a used tampon applicator float by.” Dorian shuddered and drained his wine. He reached for the bottle and poured a refill.

“That’s not something you wanna see,” Bull agreed, holding his own glass out for a top up.

“No. I tore through my home repair book. I’d gotten it at a rummage sale the week before, thank the Maker. I’d never even heard of sump pumps before that. Of course I had no idea if there even was one in the basement. I had to go looking. Which meant feeling my way around the water.” Dorian winced.

“Disgusting,” Bull laughed. 

“Quite. I eventually found it. It wasn’t beyond repair, thankfully - I had no money to purchase another. I got it up and running. I even managed to get the water drained and get the pilot light going by the time Rilienus got home that night.”

It looked like Dorian had swallowed a lemon. “I take it he wasn’t impressed,” Bull guessed.

Dorian snorted. “No. He was only impressed by things that took, quote, a larger than normal amount of effort or skill, unquote. And since I was now a homeowner, such things were to be expected. ‘One does not applaud the tenor for clearing his throat.’” Dorian assumed a haughty tone. “He said that a lot.”

Bull burst out laughing. “He quoted a shitty line from a movie like it was serious? Oh man, what a tool.” Shit, he probably shouldn’t have said that.

Dorian didn’t seem to notice. “It’s from a movie?” He stared at Bull.

“Yeah, man, it’s from Dangerous Liaisons. You know, with Glenn Close and what’s-his-face. Malkovitch.”

A smile crept across Dorian's face. “Excuse me for a moment, will you?” Without waiting for an answer, he pulled out his phone and rapidly began to text. “I must tell Felix this right away. He is simply going to  _ howl  _ with laughter.” He glanced up, his eyes merry. “And yes, he could be a bit of a tool.”

“Sorry,” Bull grunted.

“It’s fine,” Dorian said. “Felix calls him "Rill-the-anus". You wouldn’t have liked him very much. Hell, I didn’t like him very much. But I admired him, and for a long time I didn’t know the difference.” He set the phone down and snuggled into Bull’s side.

“You like me, though, right?” Bull was mostly joking. Mostly.

Dorian swiveled his head around to look at him. “Very much,” he said. 

The music shifted, and a familiar strain of piano and clavinet seemed to envelop them. Dorian's eyes went a little wild when he realized what song was playing. After a second he turned back around. Bull brought his arm around Dorian's shoulder, planted a kiss on his hair. 

It was Stevie Wonder, of all things. Bull hadn’t heard this song in a long, long time.  _ I believe when I fall in love with you, it will be forever.  _

Neither of them spoke. After a second Dorian pressed against him a little tighter, one hand sliding across Bull’s stomach, clutching him. Bull breathed deep. It was pretty much a perfect moment. He felt like he might float off the couch.

Perfect moments, despite their perfection, are still moments, and this one slipped away as the song edged into the coda. Hard to feel romantic when there’s seventies funk oozing out of the speakers. Bull laughed, and Dorian did too. They didn’t speak, just got up off the couch, collected the wine glasses and turned the stereo off, and headed upstairs to bed. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not make up the Tie Me to the Bedpost. It's a real cocktail. And if you want to listen to the Stevie Wonder song, you could, on [youtube](https://youtu.be/H--_-gPX3Nw) or [spotify.](https://play.spotify.com/user/somanyjax/playlist/4wvPRPt50bGtRBxlMvDk35)


	16. Karaoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull convinces Dorian to go to karaoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, folks. I promise this fic isn't dead forever.

Dorian took a deep breath and tapped out the message to Isabela on his phone.  _ You have to help me. Please, I’m desperate. _

_ Anything luv what is it _

_ Bull wants to take me to karaoke with his kitchen staff Sunday at nine. Please come? Please please? _

There was a long pause after Dorian sent the last text. Not surprising. Isabela was probably laughing so hard she was crying by now. She’d asked Dorian to go to karaoke night dozens of times over the years, and Dorian always said no. Still, desperate times, desperate measures, et cetera.

The response came a few minutes later.  _ O so you go for Bull? I see how it is _

Dorian groaned in frustration, letting his head fall back to contemplate the cruel Maker who had inflicted such suffering upon him, that he was about to have to beg. But before he could draft a reply, another text came from Isabela:  _ lol jk it’ll be fun. Ill bring hawke and some friends so your not alone. _

That seemed suspiciously innocent, but Dorian was in no position to complain. He sent an effusive thank you and a promise to buy her a drink, and tried not to think about the feeling of doom settling on his shoulders.

It wasn’t that he objected to karaoke. He had a dim memory of going once or twice in college, but it was so clouded by time and the copious amounts of alcohol he’d ingested that he wasn’t entirely sure if it had been karaoke or just obnoxious music students singing in a bar.

But performance was such an integral part of who he was, so deeply ingrained into his bones, that to treat it so casually made his teeth itch. Letting go of that was not something he could do easily. Nor did he want to, precisely. He knew it was snobbish and superior, and objectively could agree that those were not becoming qualities, but music was his  _ thing. _ Something about seeing it treated like a tavern game just rubbed him the wrong way. 

Isabela, damn her, was exactly right though. For Bull, Dorian would endure the discomfort. He knew he’d probably have a good time once he’d had a few drinks. It wasn’t like he was going to get up there and sing himself. And with Isabela and Hawke there, at least he’d have some people to talk to if it became awkward with Bull’s employees. 

So when Dorian pushed open the door to the Singing Maiden on Sunday night, he was feeling reasonably confident. Bull had texted that he was already there with his “boys”. Isabela had also sent multiple texts, exhorting him for being “late” even though it was five to nine. 

A huge cheer went up when he stepped in the doors. The place was  _ packed.  _ His suspicion that Isabela had some mischief up her sleeve proved true: there were dozens of his friends and acquaintances milling about, with Isabela in the center like some debauched pirate captain. She gave him a lazy wink and raised her glass.  _ A few friends,  _ indeed.

“Dorian!” Bull boomed, jumping to his feet and rushing over. “Fuck, you look incredible,” Bull gushed, pulling him in for a slightly-too-wet kiss on the cheek. 

“I always look incredible,” Dorian muttered, more out of habit than anything. His confidence was rapidly draining away as dozens of sets of eyes were on him, squashed in Bull’s embrace. 

“Sorry, got carried away. Just happy to see you.” Bull said under his breath. 

“Happy to be here.” Dorian smiled, taking a deep breath. “Though I could use a drink.”

Bull grinned, and seeing him so pleased helped relieve some of the tension that gripped Dorian. “You got it. C’mere, want to introduce you to the boys.”

The next few moments were a blur of nicknames and handshakes and wary nods. From behind him he heard a husky voice. “So, a real-life  _ Altus,  _ in the flesh, in Haven. Never thought I’d see the day.”

No one called him that in the South; Dorian hadn’t heard the title since Rilienus had thrown it in his face all those years ago. Dorian spun about in surprise, coming to find himself face-to-face with a smirking Tevinter.

Suddenly he remembered Bull mentioning that his kitchen manager was also from Tevinter. Dorian whipped up a rueful grin. “Haven’t heard that in a long time. Dorian Pavus.” He held out his hand. 

“Aw, thought maybe you’d pull out the old fol-de-rol for a fellow ‘Vint,” the man scowled in mock disappointment, shaking his hand.

Dorian laughed, for real this time. He gave a florid Tevene bow. “Dorian, Scion of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous, most pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“That’s the stuff! Cremisius Aclassi, Soporati, at your service.” He gave a less florid, but much deeper bow, as per tradition, grinning widely.

One of Bull’s employees, a dark haired woman - Skinner, was it? - snorted loudly. “Jesus, what the fuck is that all about?” 

“‘Vint stuff,” Bull said. “Like dogs sniffing butts.”

Dorian had just been passed a beer, which he spluttered in laughter. “Bull, you ass. Look what you made me do.” He flicked a few drops of liquid from his shirt. 

“Want me to lick it off?” Bull leered. 

Dorian raised an eyebrow and gave him a smirk. Bull laughed and grabbed him around the waist. Before Dorian could settle in, Sera appeared from seemingly thin air and pulled him towards the throng of people sitting by Isabela. “There you are. Come on, little drinks.”

“Oh, good lord. No. I’d like to maintain a semblance of bladder control, thank you,” Dorian said, trailing after her. 

“It’s just one, don’t be an arse,” she said, handing him a shot glass. 

“What is it?” Dorian frowned at the deep gold liquid. 

“What do you think? Rum, of course,” Isabela cooed. “Alright everyone! Drink up!” She downed her shot.

Dorian briefly considered just setting it to the side, but Sera was right.  _ One  _ shot was not a problem. It was when they came in multiples that it began to be an issue. He threw back the liquor, feeling the warmth crackle down his throat. Not being twenty-two, he didn’t chase it with the beer in his other hand, instead setting the drink down and pouring himself a plastic cup of water from one of the many pitchers on the table.

“Getting old, Professor.” Hawke clucked his tongue.

Up by the stage, a woman with an Orlesian accent was announcing something about sign-ups. Dorian tried to listen but then he spied Anders, talking animatedly with someone Dorian didn’t recognize. He’d never seen Anders outside of the Clinic before, and the sight was jarring. And at the same table was... no, it couldn’t be. He hurried over to the table.

“Cole?” Dorian asked. 

The boy lifted his face. He was wearing an enormous hat, a big floppy-brimmed number like the kind middle-aged men wore to go fishing. “I’m going to sing,” he announced. “I practiced.”

Dorian couldn’t help but laugh. “Well that sounds lovely,” he said.

The unfamiliar man turned to Dorian. “Ah, you must be Professor Pavus. Varric Tethras.” He stuck out his hand. “You know Anders?”

Dorian nodded at him. “Well I drink enough of his coffee, that's for sure,” he said. 

Anders rose and shook his hand. “I’ve got to go say hello to Isabela before she starts pouting that I’m ignoring her.”

“Watch out, she’s got rum,” Dorian warned as he left the table.

“Can I have rum?” Cole asked.

“You’ll probably want to sing first,” Varric said. “Burns the throat.”

Dorian sat. “Cole, do you sing often?”

He shook his head and then nodded. “Not in front of people. At home.”

“I got a text from Isabela,” Varric explained. “Haven’t seen the old Kirkwall crew in a while, so I thought I’d come out. Plus she said you’d be here, and the kid wanted to come, so it all works.”

“She seems to have invited half of Thedas,” Dorian grumbled.

“Yeah, this is gonna be a night to remember,” Varric nodded, looking around. “Can’t wait to write about it.”

A sudden wail of feedback came from the microphone as Isabela hopped onto the carpeted riser that acted as a stage. “Maryden, you’re supposed to make me sound good,” she pouted into the mic.

The woman behind the sound system waved her off. A second later the intro to “One Way or Another” came through the speakers. It was obvious that Isabela only had the vaguest idea of the lyrics, as she mumbled through some sections, but always returned to the “getcha getcha” refrain with gusto. 

She ended with a playful whoop and skipped merrily back to Hawke. From then the night was a blur of laughter. Dorian's face started to hurt from smiling so much. What the hell had he been so uptight about? 

One by one, people got up to take a turn behind the microphone. Skinner and Dalish got up and sang a respectable version of “Africa”, nailing the tricky harmonies. The diminutive waif from Thrynn’s nursery, Merrill, warbled her way through “Beautiful”, thankfully opting to skip Christina Aguilera’s melismatics. It was strangely heartfelt, and earned her a huge hug and a kiss on the cheek from Isabela. 

The biggest surprise was probably Cole, though. He looked rather dreadful on the riser, fidgeting under the lights and clutching his hat in both hands. The opening strains of Radiohead’s “Creep” drifted through the speakers. Dorian, frankly, wasn’t expecting much. He certainly wasn’t expecting to literally get goosebumps when the boy began to sing. It was both raw and pure; he sang like his soul depended on it. One by one, people stopped talking and drinking, all gazing up at him as he tore through the climax of the song. The music seemed to drop down to a whisper. Cole sank into the last verse, murmuring the lyrics into the mic: “What the hell am I doing here? I don’t belong here.”

The instant the music stopped, the place exploded. Dorian clapped and whistled with two fingers in his mouth. Hawke started up a chant of “Cole! Cole! Cole!”, and Maryden had put an arm around his shoulders. She was speaking to him very fast and smiling a lot, probably trying to get him to sing with her band.

An hour into the night and Dorian was pleasantly buzzed, both from alcohol and companionship. Bull pulled him to sit on his knee. Dorian fought the pinprick of nervousness, settling on his boyfriend’s lap, a hand draped over Bull’s shoulder. Hawke was on the podium, squinting up at the monitor.

“This should be good,” Dorian laughed. 

“Already is,” Bull murmured, tickling his fingers along Dorian's ribs. “You having fun?”

“Yes. I think I am.” Dorian leaned back against Bull’s chest just a bit.

“Good,” Bull said. 

Dorian turned. Bull was so close, his face open and soft. Surely no one would care if Dorian leaned in and just brushed his lips against Bull’s mouth? So Dorian did, or, that is to say, he started to, closing perhaps half the distance before jerking away again. “I’m sorry, is he singing about Taco Bell?” Dorian laughed, looking accusingly towards Hawke.

The man was jerking his hips to and fro, bending at the knees in a horrifying imitation of dance. “Fire at the disco!” Hawke sang. “Fire at the Taco Bell!”

“Ha! I love this song,” Bull grinned. “Oh, meant to tell you,” he said casually.

Dorian turned back. “Yes?”

Without preamble, Bull kissed him. Dorian was just starting to wonder how long was too long when Maryden announced Bull’s name over the PA. “Looks like I’m up.” 

Dorian rose to make way, then sat back in the seat Bull had vacated. He watched as Bull murmured a few words to Maryden and made his way to the microphone, adjusting it to account for his height.

Isabela sashayed over and slung an arm around Dorian's shoulder, bumping the chair with her hip. “Hello, fancypants. Having a good time?”

“Yes, despite your effort to cram every person I know in the bar,” Dorian laughed. 

“Oh you love it,” Isabela scoffed. “Oooh, your loverman is singing.” She winked outrageously.

“No doubt Baby Got Back or some other atrocity.” Dorian rolled his eyes, trying and failing to suppress a smile.

“I don’t know, he might surprise you,” Isabela sing-songed. She wandered off to throw her arms around Fenris, who had just walked in. After a brief greeting, the dour bartender’s eyes were searching the crowd. 

Dorian tried to follow the man’s gaze, see who he was looking for, but the music started. Dorian didn’t recognize it right away, some sort of seventies soul ballad. Bull started out speaking into the microphone, his voice low and velvety, staring intently at Dorian. “I’ve heard people say, too much of anything’s no good for you, baby.”

“Oh no,” Dorian said.

“Oh yes,” Hawke said, slapping a hand on his shoulder. He flopped into the seat next to him and took a pull from a bottle of beer, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Hope you’re comfy.”

Bull began to croon. “My darling I... can’t get enough of your love, babe.” Of course he was singing a Barry White song. It was oddly mesmerizing. Bull had a surprisingly good voice, but it was nothing on the way he moved.

Dorian wouldn’t have considered it to be a particularly good song for dancing, but Bull apparently didn’t see any limitations. He punctuated his singing with little steps, the occasional twirl, and the things he did with his hips would get him arrested in Tevinter. And that was before he took the mic out of the stand and began to stalk over to Dorian. 

For a moment, Dorian was terrified. But then everyone started to whistle and holler, and he forced himself to relax. Surely Bull wasn’t planning to give him a lap dance. He wouldn’t do that. Would he?

Not exactly. Bull got a few feet away and serenaded him. He held his hand out, beckoning. Dorian was confused.

Hawke, however, wasn’t. He tipped Dorian's chair, forcing him to get up. Bull immediately caught his hand, spinning him around. Dorian laughed, delight rising up to quench the anxiety. Bull pulled him to his side, continuing to sing even as they danced together hip to hip.

It was difficult to gauge if Dorian had even been this happy: smitten, surrounded by friends, slightly buzzed not just from alcohol but sheer elation. Bull kissed him again when the song ended, lowering him into a melodramatic dip that drew a cheer from the crowd.

A few minutes later they were at a table in the corner, out of the limelight. “Still having fun?” Bull grinned.

“I had no idea you moonlight as a Barry White impersonator.” 

“Guy’s gotta earn a living,” Bull shrugged. “When it’s not pizza season.” 

Laughing helplessly, Dorian drained his beer. He held up the empty glass. “I’m getting another - you want anything?” 

“Sure.” Bull knocked back the dregs of his drink and handed the glass over. 

Dorian found his way to the bar. There was a bit of a crush, so he made eye contact with the bartender and gave her an understanding wave. She gave him a relieved nod and went back to concocting a fruity, complicated cocktail. Dorian turned his attention to the stage.

Fenris was regarding the microphone with his normal baleful glare. The music had already begun, a minimal drumbeat punctuated by dizzy keys. Dorian had to admit, the way the man gripped the microphone, looking out into the crowd, it was pretty fucking sexy. 

He started to sing. Dorian recognized the tune from the radio, all angst and forbidden passions. After a moment, Fenris’ gaze honed in like a laser; Dorian craned his neck to see the object of his attention.

It was Anders, amazingly enough. The blond was standing, watching Fenris with the same intensity. Dorian fought the urge to laugh. Fenris growled into the microphone, and after a few minutes Anders began to sway to the beat, as if he was hypnotized.

It was like watching a commercial for expensive cologne. Dorian ripped his eyes away; it felt too intimate to watch. He had to laugh to himself. When he was younger, he yearned for a connection like that: passionate and fiery and intense, smoldering looks and wordless rough sex. Everything he hadn’t gotten from Rilienus, he thought. 

And now he was in a crowded bar, dating a man who made terrible puns and gave him goofy smiles and fresh trout and sang karaoke at him, for god’s sake. Utterly impossible that it should feel so good. Without even thinking he scanned the bar, trying to see what the object of his ridiculous affection was doing.

He sat with Hawke, having a rather serious looking discussion, leaned close. Bull glanced in his direction. He smiled when he caught Dorian's eye, and merciful Maker, there was nothing that could prevent Dorian from smiling back.

Fenris finished his song. The PA squawked. “Next up, Dor-ee-ahn Pav-oose? Dor-ee-ahn Pav-oose?” Maryden’s heavily inflected Orlesian accent twisted Dorian's name.

“Oh no,” Dorian said, pinching the bridge of his nose. He glared accusingly at Bull, but the man held up his hands in surprise, shaking his head. Isabela was looking at him in bemusement, but if she had put his name in, she’d surely be laughing her ass off. Same with Sera, who was too busy telling a story to even look up.

Then he saw Krem and the rest of Bull’s crew, all looking at him, trying to hold back laughter. Ah.  _ So that's how it is. _ Dorian narrowed his eyes at Krem in an exaggerated scowl, and the man burst out laughing. 

There was no way Dorian could back down, not that he wanted to. He slid from his barstool, pointedly rubbing his eye at Krem with his middle finger. All of Bull’s crew were laughing by now, but it was good-natured. 

Dorian walked past Bull on his way to the stage. Bull caught his hand. “Hey,” he said. “I had no idea. You want me to -”

“Bull, it’s just karaoke. All a bit of fun,” Dorian said. “I should’ve guessed this would happen.” 

Bull kissed his hand. “Knock ‘em dead, big guy.”

***

Bull watched as Dorian leaned over the karaoke console with Maryden. He didn’t seem too put out, so that was good, but damn, it was kind of a shitty prank to pull. Shoulda known his boys would haze him a little.

Whatever Dorian was looking for, it was taking forever. He scrolling down the monitor and shaking his head, Maryden typing in suggestions. 

“Hurry up, Altus!” Krem called out.

Dorian grabbed the mic. “Give me a second, none of these songs are in Ancient Tevene.”

Krem guffawed, pounding the table. 

Bull started to relax. It was gonna be fine. He’d been a little worried if Dorian would get along with his crew. The guy could be prickly as hell, and a snob. Bull kinda liked it, okay -- he really liked it -- but not everyone would. But Krem was laughing, and so were Skinner and Dalish, and hell, even Grim was smiling. It was fine.

Finally, Dorian made his way to the riser. Bull’s boys cheered, and so did Bela and half the rest of the place. Dorian shaded his eyes and squinted at the monitor as some cheesy strings started playing. “How do I - oh! It’s started!” he yelped, trying to pick up the thread of the tune. “Uh -  _ sweet comic Valentine... You make me smile with my heart,”  _ he sang. 

“That’s so sweet!” Dalish yelled in an over-the-top girlish simper. 

Dorian just grinned, then locked eyes with Bull. 

Bull, having played his fair share of jazz over the years, knew what was coming, even if Dalish did not. He smiled, leaning back in his chair. 

“Your looks are laughable,” Dorian crooned. “Unphotographable....”

Bull hammed it up, putting on a hangdog expression, then looking relieved when Dorian continued: “But you’re my favorite work of art.” Bull’s crew lost it, falling over themselves.

Dorian grinned, getting into it. “Don’t change a hair for me,” Dorian sang as Bull ran a hand over his shaved scalp. “Not if you care for me. Stay, little Valentine, stay....” Dorian hung on the high note, milking it, adding a touch of vibrato at the end. Show-off. Bull loved it. When the fuck did Bull get so lucky? 

“Each day is Valentine’s day,” Dorian concluded. He gave a grandiose bow, twirling his hand in the air as everyone applauded.

He tried to return to Bull, but Krem and the others pulled him over, patting Dorian on the back. Someone shoved a drink in his hand so they could all toast. 

“Well,” Dorian laughed, once made his way to Bull. He sounded tired.

“You wanna get outta here?” Bull suggested. 

“Mm, not quite yet,” he said. “Maybe just one more drink.”

The night wore on. Things started to unravel; the singing became more raucous, though Maryden managed to keep the volume at a tolerable level. A bunch of people got up to sing “Livin’ on a Prayer” led by Sera. Anders made the questionable call to sing “Venus as a Boy”, eye-fucking the shit out of Fenris. Well, maybe it’d get him laid. Fuck knows he could use it; the guy was wound way too tight. He certainly looked good up there, flushed and sweaty, hair falling into his face. If Bull was Fenris....

But he wasn’t Fenris, and he’d already had someone sing to him. Bull looked over at Dorian. He was a little lost in the music, head swaying in time to the beat, his own hair mussed. Fuck, how had Bull gotten so damn lucky? 

When the song ended, Dorian realized he was being studied. “Everything all right?”

“Oh yeah,” Bull grinned. “Real good.”

“Good,” Dorian smiled. After a minute he stretched and uncoiled himself from the chair. “Need to use the facilities, back in a tic.”

He came back a little later, shaking his head. “You may want to avoid the bathroom for a few minutes. Apparently Fenris and Anders couldn’t wait to get to a bedroom.”

“What, really?” Bull laughed.

Dorian held up his hands. “Can’t imagine why else they’d both be in the stall. It’s not a very comfortable place for two, trust me.”

Bull inhaled deliberately, letting his shoulders rise and fall. “No? You find that out on the tour Michel gave you?” 

“Oh, I see you haven’t forgotten that little tidbit,” Dorian smirked, finishing his drink.

“Uh, you kidding? How could I forget something as hot as that?”

“Glad you approve.” He surveyed the room. “I think we’ve stayed long enough, don’t you? Maybe I can give you some new memories, hmmm?”

“Like the sound of that,” Bull said. 

They paid their tabs and headed out. It was a warm night for so early in spring, and they ambled down the sidewalk towards Dorian's place. 

“So Anders and Fenris,” Dorian said. “Interesting.”

Bull snorted. “Glad Anders is getting some, at least. Guy’s too tense.”

“Funny, I was going to say Fenris is too dour.”

“That too,” Bull nodded. 

“You know, seeing Fenris sing to Anders, it was... ah. Well. Nevermind.” Dorian shook his head, looking up at the night sky.

Bull knew there was more to it. “No, tell me.”

Dorian raised one shoulder and let it drop. “I just... for a long time, that what I thought I wanted. That intensity.”

It had the air of confession. Bull didn’t know exactly what Dorian was getting at, but it was clear that it was important. Bull knew a lot of ways to draw someone out, keep them talking, and he picked humor. “You saying I’m not intense?” Bull joked, giving him a nudge in the side with one elbow.

“Are we measuring in terms of the ratio of puns-to-word?”

“Hey now, don’t be knocking the puns,” Bull warned.

“Oh no? What are you going to do?  _ Pun- _ ish me?” Dorian drawled.

Bull stopped dead. “You  _ didn’t.”  _

Dorian just raised an eyebrow, a sultry challenge in the curve of his lips. 

Bull didn’t even think. He just kissed Dorian, laughing through it, feeling Dorian smile despite himself. “Wouldn’t trade this for anything,” Bull said, pressing their foreheads together.

Dorian threw his arms around Bull’s chest, squeezing hard. Dorian murmured something into Bull’s skin, three syllables that Bull assumed to be  _ me neither,  _ but they could have easily been three other syllables, the same rhythm but vastly different meaning. Bull held him tight; no matter what Dorian had just said, Bull would take it. He’d take anything the man had to give and always be hungry for more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has a [Spotify playlist](https://play.spotify.com/user/somanyjax/playlist/4wvPRPt50bGtRBxlMvDk35), if you care to listen to any of the songs. I'm a big fan of ~~the Taco Bell one~~ [Danger! High Voltage](https://youtu.be/2a4gyJsY0mc) by the Electric Six, myself.


	17. What You Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull decides to spice things up, and Dorian isn't sure what he wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut ahoy!

“Rehearsal went well,” Dorian mused, unbuttoning his shirt and depositing it into the hamper. “I’m beginning to think we’ll get through the concert without completely embarrassing ourselves.”

“Starting to sound real good,” Bull agreed. He was already in bed, watching Dorian get undressed. It was strangely satisfying. Not that Bull had anything against the nights when they ripped their clothes off. But getting a glimpse into Dorian's private world was something special. There was a specific, meticulous order to his routine. Shirt first, then his undershirt. Next was belt (hung immediately on a hook), followed by socks. He always took his right sock off first, then his left, then folded them together so they wouldn’t get separated. Then trousers, which were hung on a hanger. Interestingly, once he was in his underwear, he’d always take his silk pajama bottoms into the bathroom and finish changing in there. It was an oddly endearing display of modesty, especially since they almost never made it through the night with his pants on. Bull wondered where he’d picked it up -- Rilienus, maybe, or could be a Tevinter thing.

“What?” Dorian said, tilting his head.

Caught staring, Bull just grinned and shrugged. “I like watching you,” he admitted.

With a provocatively raised eyebrow, Dorian hummed in interest. “Well hold that thought. I just need to brush my teeth.”

Bull growled and waggled his eyebrows, earning him a throaty laugh. Dorian sauntered out, putting a little extra twitch in his hips. Once he was out of the room, Bull shucked off his boxers. Might as well get ‘em out of the way now. 

Dorian was back in a couple minutes. He pulled the covers back and laughed when he glimpsed Bull’s nudity. “Awfully presumptuous, aren’t we?”

“It’s one of those ‘dress for the job you want’ things,” Bull said.

“Oh, I’m a job now, am I?” Dorian slid next to him. “A chore, is that it?” 

“Yep,” Bull sighed. “Just gotta power through, make the best of it I can.”

“You are an ass,” Dorian said, rolling to straddle him. 

It wasn’t an overture, not yet. One of the best parts about this whole thing was how affectionate Dorian had turned out to be. The man was like an oversized cat in a lot of ways, which suited Bull just fine. “I’m your ass though.”

“This is true.” He nuzzled his cheek against Bull’s chest. 

Bull scritched along Dorian's hairline at the nape of his neck. “Been meaning to ask you something.”

“Mmm?” 

“You got any fantasies?”

Dorian tensed up. Not a lot, but Bull could feel it in his muscles. “I thought we talked about that. Please don’t tell me we need to do it again.” Dorian’s tone was joking, but he was wary.

Bull had, in fact, made them have a conversation about boundaries, after the first few times they’d had sex. After the incident with the shackles, he didn’t want to blunder into anything. Plus Bull would have gotten around to it at some point -- he made a point of asking all his regular partners the same questions: what they liked, what they hated, what they’d be willing to try. 

Sometimes it could be fun, sometimes it was uncomfortable, but it was always necessary. Dorian had not enjoyed the conversation. He’d rolled his eyes and squirmed and made snide remarks and when it was over, he said it was about as sexy as a high school biology class mixed with a game of Go Fish. 

That had made Bull laugh, and he offered to do a couple things on Dorian's yes list, and the whole thing was smoothed over. Problem was, Bull still didn’t have a firm grasp on what Dorian actually wanted. His ‘no’ list was short, and his ‘yes’ list was a little on the vanilla side, so there was a huge gray area. He was probably one of the most responsive lovers Bull had ever had, but Bull wanted more. Not to take, but to give. 

Bull didn’t stop petting Dorian's hair. “Nah, I mean like shit you’d never actually do, but you get off thinking about it.”

Dorian relaxed fractionally. “Like what?”

“I dunno, like....” Bull pretended to hesitate. He’d already thought of one, when he decided to bring it up, of course. “Like for me, it’d be outdoor sex. Like, in the woods, or on a mountain or something. Not in public, or anything, just outside.”

“Hmm.” Dorian traced a forefinger along Bull’s bicep. “There is something tempting about that, I will admit. Putting aside the obvious discomfort of having gravel and tree bark digging into one’s back or knees --”

“Maybe we find us a nice smooth rock or something,” Bull suggested.

“Oh it’s  _ us _ in this little fantasy of yours?” 

“Well, uh, yeah. Hard to think about anyone else when I’ve got such a nice lapful.” He squeezed Dorian's ass through his pajamas. 

He felt Dorian relax further, the tension leaving his muscles. “I should think so,” he purred. “Alright, so it’s you and me on a conveniently shaped rock. Then what happens?”

“Well, I’d have to get you naked,” Bull offered. “Nice and slow.”

“Oh? Not tearing away my clothes in a manly fashion?” 

“Oh no. No, this is all about worshipping every inch of you,” Bull explained, stroking his hands down Dorian's back. “All this beautiful skin, gleaming in the sun, just for me.”

Dorian hummed in approval, moving against Bull. “And then what?”

“After I get you nice and hard with my mouth,” Bull continued. “I’d flip on my back, so you could ride me.”

“With the lube you’ve remembered to bring?” Dorian cocked an eyebrow.

“‘Course,” Bull grinned. He pressed a kiss into Dorian's shoulder. “Want to see you come apart under a beautiful blue sky, shouting my name.” Dorian shivered and shifted again. Bull could feel he was getting hard. “Sound good?”

“Mmm, I’ll give it to you,” Dorian agreed. “It does sound appealing.”

“What about you?”

Dorian pushed up to look at Bull. “I’m... not sure you’d want to hear it, frankly.”

“Is it on my ‘no’ list?” Bull asked. Bull’s own ‘no’ list was extremely short: shit, piss, blood, and sounding. Basically everything else was on the table, far as he was concerned.

“N-no,” Dorian hedged. “But... ah, it involves some unsafe practices, so to speak. And power dynamics some might find... distasteful.”

“Ooh, I like it already,” Bull grinned, wriggling in anticipation.

Licking his lips, Dorian lowered his gaze to the hollow of Bull’s breastbone. “I... rather like the idea of being, ah, loaned out.” A flush rose on his cheeks.

_ Now we’re getting somewhere. _ “Fuck, Dorian, that's so hot,” Bull half-laughed. “Shit, I should’ve come up with a kinkier one for mine.”

Dorian laughed nervously. “It doesn’t bother you?”

“Hell no. Wanna hear more about this. Am I around for this? Do I get to watch?”  

“I... well, that is to say, that's what I’d imagined, yes.” Dorian's cock twitched against him.

“Yeah? What else did you imagine?” Bull kissed down Dorian's shoulder, biting as he went -- not hard enough to bruise, but not gentle, either.

Dorian hissed and arched against him. “That there would be more than one,” he said.

“Holy hell. Damn.” Bull slid his hands under Dorian's pajamas and traced a finger along the cleft of his ass. “More than one at a time? Or would they line up for their turn at this perfect ass?”

Dorian moaned, hips shifting as he made room for his erection. Bull shifted as well, so that his own cock rubbed along Dorian's perineum. “Either. Both. Whatever you want,” Dorian said. 

“Ooh, up to me, is it? You want to be a good boy for me, is that it?” 

With a whine, Dorian shuddered, nodding. “Yes.” It was fucking beautiful. 

He traced Dorian's entrance with his forefinger, grunting as Dorian bucked against the pressure. “Well, since you’re so good for me, how ‘bout I fuck this pretty hole?”

“God, yes,” Dorian panted, rolling off Bull, giving him room to lean over to the nightstand to retrieve the lube. He shimmied out of his pajamas then rolled to his stomach, perking his ass up with his legs spread wide.

There was no mistaking what he wanted; Bull knew just how to get him ready by now. He stretched alongside Dorian, massaging lube at the tight band of muscle. “Mm, thinking about getting you ready for this little idea of yours. How many you think you could take, hmm?”

Dorian groaned and buried his face in the pillow, trying to arch back onto Bull’s finger, but Bull didn’t let him. 

“Know a lot of guys that’d love to take a turn at this ass,” Bull went on. “Would you want to see them, all lined up? Or not, I wonder? Make you look at me while you’re getting fucked.” He pushed in, up to his first knuckle. 

Whining, Dorian bit his lip. “Whatever you want.” 

It was hard to know if he actually had a preference or not, so Bull took a guess. “Maybe I don’t want you to see. Maybe I want those gorgeous eyes on me the whole time.” He pressed in further.

Dorian nodded rapidly, gasping. “Yes. God, yes.”

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Bull said. “Could watch your face as that first cock presses in.” Bull added a second finger, slowly corkscrewing into Dorian's body.

“Yes please. Oh god, fuck.” Dorian's hips pushed up, chasing the sensation of Bull’s fingers. 

“First one would have to go easy on you,” Bull said. “Nice and gentle. Fuck you open for the rest.”

Dorian gave a broken wail. Fuck, it was so hot. His eyes were blown out, his gaze unfocused. Almost like he was hypnotized, or going into sub space. Bull’s chest ached almost as much as his cock did to see it. 

Still, this was about Dorian's fantasy, so Bull focused on that. He remembered something Dorian had said earlier, and took up the thread of the story. “Where’s he gonna come, baby? Hmm? On your back?” He was pretty sure what Dorian wanted, but best to let him say it.

“Nngh,” Dorian whimpered. His eyes were shut tight. “In -- in me.”

“Oh  _ fuck,” _ Bull groaned. His own cock was rock hard, leaking at the tip, smearing along Dorian's hip. “Fuck, you wanna take his load, baby? Yeah? You want it bare?”

Dorian nodded. “Yes, please. God, Bull, I need more.”

“I got you, good boy.” He pulled away, causing Dorian to protest. Bull rolled to kneel between Dorian's thighs, pulling him by the hips so his ass was in the air. He drizzled a decadent amount of lube down the crack of his ass, then pushed three fingers in. “There we go. Now you’re all sloppy and open. That what you want?”

Dorian's head was cradled on his forearms. “Yes,” he sighed.

“Nice. That is so good, baby. Fuck, this ass is so gorgeous. Maybe the next guy wouldn’t be so gentle, huh? After watching you get fucked, maybe he’d be impatient.” Bull jabbed his fingers, firm and a little rough.

Howling, Dorian rocked into him. “God yes, I want it hard.” 

“I’d let him give it to you. My good boy deserves all the cock he can take.” Bull was dying to fuck him, but unwilling to rush through this. It was too good. He pressed his fingers in, then pulled all the way out, four times, then five, then six, not pulling away, pressing against Dorian's prostate. “He’s gonna fill you up too, baby. Gonna feel so good.”

Dorian was whining almost continuously, face buried in his arms. Bull slid his other hand along Dorian's cock, just the palm. “How many more you think you could take, baby? Two more? Three?”

“Anything, anything.”

“Mmm, then you want me to fuck you? Fuck this ass, fuck all their come into you?” Bull grabbed the condom off the nightstand and ripped into it with his teeth, then slid it on. He waited a beat, the head of his cock pressed at Dorian's entrance.

“Yes, god yes, please. Please fuck me, Bull.” 

Bull thrust into him, just a hair faster than normal. What with the prep and all the lube, it was fucking glorious. Slick and open, with Dorian moaning underneath him.

“Gonna fuck you good, baby. Just the way you like it.” He rocked his hips, slow to drag himself out, then quick to thrust in. 

Dorian continued to babble, moaning and pleading. 

“Mmm, need to watch you,” Bull said, pulling away. “On your back, there’s a good boy.”

Crumpling to the mattress, Dorian squirmed around until he was on his back. He hooked his hands behind his knees eagerly, his face wracked with need. 

Bull leaned forward, using his own arms to hold Dorian's legs in place. “Want you to come. Want to feel it.”

Desperately, Dorian tugged at his cock. Almost immediately, he began to whine and gasp. “Close, so close.”

Bull was barely maintaining control. “Fuck, it’s so good. Need to feel you. That's it. Tighten up, come on baby, give it to me. Fuck, Dorian, that's  _ it. _ God, that's fucking  _ it.”  _ Bull felt the rhythmic spasms of Dorian's orgasm as the man’s eyes flew wide, body jerking.

Bull growled and pounded into Dorian, letting his own release set the pace. It was long, building even as Dorian began to relax under him, until Bull tumbled forward, kissing Dorian with a desperate hunger as he finally came. 

He panted against Dorian for a few seconds, wishing he could lay like that forever. But Dorian squirmed, and Bull pushed himself up and away, letting Dorian get out from under him before toppling back down to the bed face down. The bed dipped and he heard Dorian slip out to go clean up. 

Bull hadn’t moved when Dorian returned a moment later. He heard Dorian's dark chuckle. “You alright?”

“I think you killed me,” Bull said into the pillow. 

“Ah, speaking from beyond the grave, I see,” Dorian noted. “Well then, I hope even in your zombie state you can get up for a moment. I want to get under the covers.” He tugged on the bedspread.

Bull heaved himself up, making an exaggerated mindless moan as he shuffled off to the bathroom himself. Dorian was tucked under the covers when he got back.

Bull slid next to him. “That was incredible.”

“It was, rather,” Dorian said with a shy grin. “Thank you.”

“Pretty sure I should be thanking you. Plus now I have something better to fantasize about.”

“Better than sex on the Rock of Convenience? I’m flattered.” Dorian shifted around to click off the bedside lamp. Once the room was dark, he slotted himself next to Bull, making himself the little spoon. 

Bull felt the pull of fatigue. He knew his arm was gonna lose circulation and his neck was gonna get a crick, but damn if it wasn’t worth it to fall asleep curled up around Dorian.

***

Dorian lay in the dark, feeling Bull’s breath against his hair. He was exhausted, beyond tired. Sleep, however, eluded him. He hovered on the edge, falling into a doze, only to be ripped back to wakefulness over and over. 

_ There’s nothing to worry about.  _ Dorian repeated this to himself, forcefully reminding his anxiety-riddled brain that Bull had shown precisely zero interest in judging him. For God’s sake, the man had had far more sex, and in an infinitely greater variety, than Dorian. He knew Bull had had threesomes at the very least. 

Still. Still....

About an hour later, he heard Bull draw in a deep breath. “You’re awake,” Bull whispered. 

Humming noncommittally, Dorian rolled to a different position. 

“Everything okay?” Bull reached out and ran a hand over his chest, resting on the crook of his neck. He thumbed along Dorian's jawline.

A few months ago, Dorian would’ve lied. But Bull had become frighteningly good at spotting his attempts at deception. So he went for deflection, instead. “Just insomnia,” he said. “I can’t get the brain to turn off. Side effect of my brilliance, no doubt.”

“Mmmm,” Bull agreed. “Or maybe you’re thinking about what happened tonight?”

Dorian huffed in frustration. “How do you do that? You can’t even see my face.”

“Your pulse is high,” Bull said. “I can feel it.”

“Fasta vass,” Dorian grumbled. 

“You wanna tell me about it?”

“Not especially, but I suppose.... Ugh, this is intolerable.” Dorian was so, so tired, and yet he felt the crawl of unease under his skin. “Not -- not  _ this,” _ he amended quickly, reaching up to put his hand over Bull’s. 

“Well that's good,” Bull said. “You embarrassed or something?”

“Not -- well, maybe a little.” Dorian grit his teeth together.  _ Just fucking say it -- he’s going to drag it out of you either way.  _ “It’s that -- you know how you said, you wanted to hear about things I would never try?”

There was a pause. “Yeah?”

“Well... what if I -- what if I  _ did _ want to try that? Or, something like that?”

There was another pause. Dorian counted three of Bull’s breaths. With each, his discomfort grew exponentially. He’d been reasonably sure that Bull wouldn’t judge him for it, but the pause was starting to tip the balance. “I’m not saying I do,” he went on. “But, if I did?”  _ Kaffas, stop blathering, you idiot. You’re making no sense. _

Bull spoke. “I think... I think I’d want to be real sure you actually wanted it, and that you’re not just trying to push yourself on my account.”

Dorian nodded. Of course. Of course Bull wouldn’t think less of him. God, the fact that he assumed Dorian would do it to make him happy said it all, didn’t it? That wanting such things didn’t mean his desire for Bull was any less? That his desires were nothing to be ashamed of?

And yet, it wasn’t enough; Dorian had to poke at his wounds. He blurted it out: “You don’t think I’m a....” He couldn’t bring himself to say  _ slut. _ Which was odd; he used to whisper it into the ears of his lovers, urging them to call him one when they fucked him, hoping that hearing it would help him own his hunger, help him drown out the memory of every time Rilienus tutted and rolled his eyes when Dorian asked for sex.

“Whatever you’re gonna say, the answer is no, I don’t think that,” Bull growled.

Dorian felt immensely stupid, cringing automatically.

“Hey, hey. Shit,” Bull grunted, pulling him closer. “I think you’re fucking incredible and sexy as all fuck. And there’s nothing wrong with wanting what you want. And if that's to do like we did tonight and talk about it and imagine and fuck our brains out, great. And if you wanna try some of it, we can make that work too.”

Forcing himself to relax, Dorian nodded against Bull’s chest. “It was just a thought.”

“You know I’ve done things like that, right?” Bull said.

Dorian's stomach twisted, though whether it was from jealousy or lust or sheer exhaustion, it was hard to say. “I knew you had threesomes,” he hedged.

Bull shrugged. “Went to a couple orgies, back in the day. Figured why not.”

“Mmm,” Dorian said. “Were they... fun?”

“Ehh. Not as fun as you and me tonight. Hell, not as fun as you and me ever, to be honest.”

Dorian snorted in disbelief. 

“I’m serious,” Bull said. “The more people involved, the harder it is to concentrate. And the chances that you’ll actually be attracted to everyone are low. And, you know, it’s real life. It’s messy, people get leg cramps, the bottles of lube get all sticky, it smells funny, people are farting and queefing....”

By the end, Dorian was laughing for real. “God, stop, stop! You’re ruining it for me.”

“Oh, sorry,” Bull mumbled. “Point is, long as you really want it, we can talk about it later.”

Exhaustion was bearing down on him. “Sometimes I think I do, sometimes I’m not so sure,” he admitted. “I’m sorry to have kept you up.”

Bull kissed his forehead. “Not a problem. Get some sleep.”

Dorian might not have been sure of what he wanted, but he was fairly certain that being cradled in the arms of an impossibly compassionate lover as he drifted off to sleep was a good thing. If only he could manage not to fuck it up, it might even be the best thing he’d ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, the fic's not dead. Yeah, life has gotten in the way for me. I can't guarantee that there will be regular updates on this one. I love it to death, but it may be a while before I can devote the energy to writing more. My intention is to finish it, but until Real Life gives me (and all of us) a fucking break already, I can't make any promises.


	18. Tea and Toast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian performs in his solo faculty recital. Bull can't get away from his past, even if he wanted to. Which he doesn't.

Fuck, who knew there were so many varieties of red roses? Bull wavered in front of the cooler, indecisive. There was bright red, blood red, ones that were kind of orange, and ones that were almost pink.

The florist sidled up. “Looking to surprise a lucky lady?” He gave Bull a knowing wink.

“No ‘y’,” Bull said.  

It took a second for him to work it out. “No... Oh! ‘Lad.’ Ahaha. Yes. I’ll have to remember that one. What’s the occasion? Anniversary?”

“No, it’s for after a recital.”

“Interesting,” he nodded. “Don’t get a lot of call for red roses for that. Usually it’s parents buying -- gerberas, lilies, that sort of thing.” He stroked his chin.

“Yeah, well, I wanna make it special,” Bull said.

“You’ve come to the right man,” the clerk said, giving him another obnoxious wink. “Eustace Morris never backs down from a challenge. Now,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “We need post-recital roses for a man. What kind of recital? Piano? Violin?”

“Cello.” Bull wasn’t sure why that mattered.

“Oooh, a man of passion. Better and better. Fereldan?”

“Tevinter,” Bull supplied. He wasn’t sure if the guy was messing with him, but he played along.

“Tevinter! That changes everything,” Morris said, throwing up his hands.

“Does it?”

“Oh, most assuredly. If he were Ferelden, I’d recommend ‘Checkmate’.” He pointed at the most generic red rose of the lot. “Traditional, sturdy, and between you and me,” he looked around the empty shop conspiratorially, “a tad bit boring. Now, if he were Orlesian, we could be a bit more daring. Amada, maybe, still in closed buds. More delicate. But for a Tevinter, and a classical musician, a man of passion _and_ refinement, you want something amazing. Something unique. You want...” He reached for the back of the cooler. “Black baccara.”

The flowers were deep maroon, petals so velvety that the texture lent them a silver sheen. Bull wasn’t sure how a flower could look fresh and ancient at the same time, but these did. “Damn,” he said.

“Beautiful, aren’t they? Not much call for them, but I always keep a few in stock. One dozen?”

“Make it two,” Bull said.

The clerk brightened up. “It would be my pleasure.”

Bull loitered by the counter while Morris wrapped the flowers. The man practically hummed as fussed.

He rang Bull up. “Didn’t you come here a while back? Tulips, wasn’t it?”

“That’s a good memory,” Bull said.

Morris shrugged modestly. “One tends to remember the customers that want something specific. I take it they worked out?”

“Sure did,” Bull laughed.

“Wonderful,” Morris beamed, taking the signed receipt. “Don’t forget, I do weddings.” Another terrible wink.

Bull laughed. “Yeah, well, that's... yeah. If that happens, I’ll let you know.” He turned to head out of the shop.

“Enjoy the recital!”

Bull was still shaking his head as he walked to his car. The guy was a salesman, gotta give him that. Bull was definitely _not_ thinking about weddings. He was, however, thinking about a certain four-letter word. It had taken him a while to come to terms with it, to put a label on this thing he was feeling. He was pretty sure it was love, by this point. Almost positive. Pretty sure. Felt fucking amazing, anyway.

Bull checked his phone. It was 4:30. Dorian was probably warming up for the recital already. He’d warned Bull that he wouldn’t be very good company the day of a performance, so they’d slept apart last night. They’d had dinner together though. Dorian had paced before and after the meal as he fretted about not having practiced enough. Bull wasn’t exactly sure what was making him so nervous -- he had to perform in these recitals twice a year. Bull had finally gleaned that it had something to do with the Dean of the arts department, some kind of dragon lady that seemed to either intimidate or irritate the hell out of Dorian. Maybe both.

Bull was positive he’d be fine. He shot a quick ‘good luck’ text to Dorian from his car and headed home. He had time to squeeze in a quick workout and a snack before the concert. It was gonna be a great night.

***

One of the requirements of Dorian's position was to perform in the faculty recital each semester. It was, by and large, a formality. In a larger university, perhaps it would be more of an honor, but as there were only three members of the music faculty, the event was decidedly low-key. It only took two years for Dorian to realize that the piano and vocal professors cycled through a tiny repertoire of pieces rather than prepare new works.

He could hardly blame them. Almost no one attended, aside from the students and the spouses of the faculty. And the Dean, of course, as well as whatever sycophants were trying to get on her good side.

Dorian, however, refused to slide into mediocrity. Even if no one else took it seriously, a performance was a performance. He decided the best way to deal with the sting of poor attendance was to see it as an opportunity to learn new pieces. It gave him a challenge, at the very least, and if he had a less-than-stellar performance, the stakes were very low. Aside from the other faculty and the Dean, no one would even notice.

This semester, however, he’d already committed to a new work before he’d started dating Bull. A devilishly difficult piece, in fact -- the Kodaly Sonata in B Minor. The closer he got to the performance, the more nervous he became. Part of this was because he wasn’t practicing as much as he could; the mornings when he didn’t have class, he was almost always with Bull.

The bigger part, however, was that he desperately wanted to impress Bull. The man hadn’t heard him play, and the longer it went on, the more pressure Dorian felt. Bull himself was an incredible musician, so there was that. But it wasn’t just mutual respect. Whatever was building between them was far, far larger than Dorian had ever anticipated. It was tipping the scales towards... well, he might as well just admit it: he was in love with Bull. Wholly and unabashedly. The kind of love that made Dorian want to be better, to be more, to give Bull everything he deserved. Including a flawless performance.

Just seeing Bull in the audience had sent a jolt of nerves through Dorian. Despite everything, however, he managed to calm himself, sinking into the very specific headspace reserved for performing onstage. It wasn’t that Dorian forgot Bull was there, so much as that he mastered that nervous energy, all the doubt and infatuation and excitement and love, channeling it into the piece. The few dozen people in the audience were of no consequence; Dorian played for Bull alone.

Not only that, he _nailed_ it. It was possibly one of his best performances to date. Modesty would forbid him from ever admitting it, but Dorian was immensely proud of himself. Dorian did his best not to grin like an idiot as he stepped off the stage. The post-performance euphoria usually left him slightly loopy, even for a normal recital. After the quite frankly sublime performance he’d just given, he was practically high. He forced a few deep breaths, wiping his hands down his cheeks to curtail his smile; he didn’t fancy sounding stupid in front of the Dean, Madame du Fer.

Sure enough, Vivienne was in the green room. “Ah, there you are, darling,” she said, gliding up with her hand outstretched. “Absolutely smashing performance. Fabulous.” Her smile was wide and insincere.

“Thank you,” Dorian said, tilting his head graciously. “I appreciate you taking the time to attend.”

“Well of course, darling. I wouldn’t miss it,” she said, twisting the words to make it clear her attendance was mandatory.

Dorian gave her a bland smile. Over her shoulder, he saw Bull round the corner, holding an enormous bouquet. Dorian's heart leapt into his throat, and his smile brightened, despite his best efforts to remain serene. Of course he brought flowers. _Of course he did._

“I must say, I’m impressed you attempted the Kodaly,” Vivienne cooed, breaking his train of thought.

_Attempted._ As if Dorian hadn’t played it to perfection. “Well, I thought the audience could use a challenge,” Dorian said, turning his attention back to Vivienne. He immediately regretted it; it sounded like he was disparaging the other two musicians for picking boring repertoire. Luckily, there was an enormous, one-eyed man bearing down on them. Dorian shifted the conversation. “Madame Vivienne, let me introduce you to my boyfriend,” he smiled, gesturing behind her.

Vivienne turned. Dorian was looking right at her face, gleefully anticipating her reaction. Bull did tend to make an impression. So he saw the instant the bored, patronizing expression slid into a shock of recognition.

“Oh. Hello,” she said, the tiniest furrow of a frown creasing her forehead.

“Oh, uh, hi,” Bull said. After a second too long, he thrust his hand out.

Dorian felt like he’d been dunked in ice water. It was blindingly obvious they knew each other. Intimately. Dorian had run into enough hookups to recognize the interaction.

Vivienne shook Bull’s hand and gave a wan smile. “How lovely for you both. If you’ll excuse me.” She moved away as quickly as she could without calling attention to herself.

Bull’s gaze flicked from her to Dorian and then back. “So that's the Dean, eh?”

Dorian managed a noncommittal murmur. “You know her?”

“Uh, yeah,” Bull admitted. “Been a long time.”

“Mmm,” Dorian nodded. _They had sex. Bull had sex with her._ The realization had blanketed Dorian's mind, overshadowing everything else. He felt numb. “I need to put this away,” he said, holding up his instrument.

“Yeah,” Bull said. “Yeah, okay.”

They walked to Dorian's office without speaking. Dorian felt the pressure of a meltdown building. What with the performance, all of the stress and elation, his barriers were down. _Vivienne had sex with Bull._ He moved automatically, opening the door and putting the cello in its case. All the while, Bull stood in the center of the room, shifting his weight from foot to foot, unsettled.

Dorian finished putting everything away. He turned towards Bull, but didn’t look up. Couldn’t look up.

“Got you these,” Bull said, proffering the flowers. He pulled back the tissue paper to reveal wine-dark roses.

Dorian took them, cradling the huge bouquet like a beauty queen. “They’re exquisite,” he whispered, because it was true. They _were_ exquisite. _Bull wrapped around her, like he wraps around me...._

“So are you,” Bull said. He cleared his throat. “That was incredible. I’ve never heard anything like that.”

“Thank you,” Dorian said. They stood there, not speaking.

“Dorian?” Bull sounded scared.

“I... don’t feel well,” Dorian said. The images were coming thick and fast now, assaulting him. He squeezed his eyes shut, but that just made it worse, and he opened them with a gasp. All he could think of was Bull: _laughing and moaning and growling as he fucked her...._

“What’s wrong? Dorian. What’s the matter?”

“I’m... oh god,” Dorian said. “God, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just.... You slept with her.”

Bull blinked, then his lips drew together. “Yeah,” he said. He wore the outline of a frown, defensive.

“It’s none of my business, I know that, I do, I know, I just....” Dorian babbled, finally cutting off the stream of words.

“You’re right, it’s not,” Bull nodded.

Dorian gulped for air, nodding in return. “I know, I know. God, I can’t --” He dug the heel of one hand into his eye socket. _Vivienne laughing, riding Bull._ “I need to go.” God, he was pathetic. _Bull, taking her from behind, smiling as he rocked into her._ “Fuck,” Dorian swore. He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging hard.

“Hey,” Bull said. His voice was gentle, but Dorian could hear the anger he was repressing. _Of course he’s mad at you. You’re acting like a fucking child._

“I’m sorry, god, look at me, I’m so sorry,” Dorian whispered, shaking his head.

“Dorian. Take a few deep breaths, okay? I’m gonna go get you a bottle of water from the vending machine.”

Dorian nodded, defeated. He clutched at his stomach, breath coming in gasps. Bull watched him carefully for another moment, then turned and left.

***

Bull strode down the hallway, turning into the stairwell and taking the steps two at a time. Anger and fear were vying for his full attention. One second he was furious with Dorian for getting upset at Bull’s former love life, the next furious at himself for getting in this deep. He should’ve fucking broken it off after the manacle incident, for both of their sakes. He _knew_ Dorian wouldn’t be able to let things go as easily as he said.

And then fear swooped in, both for the immediate situation and the future. Whatever else was happening, Dorian was clearly in the throes of some sort of anxiety attack. Between helping Skinner through a few episodes, plus his own experience with PTSD, Bull recognized the symptoms. How could Bull be angry with him for that? Pretty fucking cold, not to mention hypocritical. Dorian's past was full of messed-up shit. But how could they move past this? Was Dorian gonna lose it every time they ran into someone Bull had fucked? Shit, a town as small as Haven, that was like every week. Would Dorian expect to know all the shit Bull had done? Would he want details? The thought tipped the balance back to anger.

Bull had swung back and forth several times by the time he made it to the vending machine. And then the fucking thing wouldn’t take one of his quarters. The coin kept pinging through the machine and getting rejected. Finally he growled, dug out his card from his wallet and swiped it. The longer he stood there, the longer Dorian was left in his office. Bull didn’t know how bad it might get, but he’d seen how hard Dorian had pulled his hair. He’d never seen any evidence of self-harm, but that didn’t mean shit.

Finally, the damn machine dispensed the bottle. Bull gave up the pretense of walking and ran back to the office. Halfway down the hall, his heart sank. The lights were off. Sure, enough, the door was locked. Dorian had left.

Bull did not stop to think; he was driving towards Dorian's house before he fully realized what he was even doing. Shit, what if chasing after him made things worse, somehow? Maybe Dorian wanted to get away from him? Maybe Dorian didn’t need his help?

Despite the doubt, Bull continued to drive. He turned down Dorian's street. The lights in the house weren’t on, but Dorian's car was in the drive, so Bull pulled up behind it.

The headlights revealed that Dorian was still in the driver’s seat, hunched over. Bull scrambled out of his car. Even with the windows rolled up, he could hear Dorian sobbing, his face buried in his hands. All of the anger and fear got swept away in the overwhelming need to help, to do whatever he needed to do to ease Dorian's pain.

“Dorian? Hey, it’s me.” Bull gently opened the door, hunkering down to put an arm around Dorian. He still had his seatbelt on.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Bull, I’m so sorry --” Dorian could barely get the words out between the sobs.

“Hey, it’s alright. Come on, you wanna go inside? I’m here, babe. Right here. It’s okay.” Bull kept his tone gentle, the way you were supposed to, but fuck, it was difficult. He felt his own sinuses prickle in sympathetic tears.

After another minute, Dorian nodded. Took a minute to untangle himself from the car, and then Bull half-carried him into the house. By then the sobs had slowed, though Dorian was still having trouble breathing. Probably hyperventilated, Bull realized.

They got inside. Bull helped him up the stairs, then helped him undress. Dorian's nose was puffy and red, as were his eyes, which stared dully into the middle distance.

“You wanna try to sleep?” Bull asked.

Dorian shook his head. “Ca-can’t. Need to --” This set off another round of hiccuping sobs, and he winced and turned away.

“Okay. Hey, it’s okay. Let’s go back downstairs. How about some TV? Give your mind a break?”

After a pause, Dorian nodded. Bull got him wrapped in a blanket on the couch. Dorian still wasn’t looking at him. Embarrassed, maybe. Bull didn’t push it. “Hey, how about some tea? Sound good?”

“O-okay,” Dorian whispered, picking up the remote.

Bull took his time making the tea, letting Dorian gather himself. His stomach rumbled; might as well make a snack for them while he was at it. He popped a couple of slices of bread in the toaster and fetched the peanut butter.

Truth was, Bull needed a minute, too. Now that the initial crisis was over, he sifted through all the shit that had gotten stirred up. The anger had receded to annoyance, and he could deal with that. Dorian hadn’t actually accused him of doing anything wrong, after all. He seemed more upset about being upset.

Nah, the only thing still annoying Bull was that the night had gone to shit. Hard to believe that an hour ago, he'd been sitting in the audience, transfixed. He didn't believe in god or any of that shit, but listening to Dorian, seeing the ecstasy on his face on stage -- it was transcendent, glorious. Maybe that's what this was all about though -- taking the shit along with all the good parts, being there for all of it, being there for all of Dorian. It was kinda comforting to realize. Bull poured the hot water over the chamomile flowers in Dorian's fancy tea strainer, watching as the dried blossoms expanded in the liquid. He started to hum, trying not to think, just sitting in the moment, waiting for the tea to steep. It was going to be all right. Pretty sure.

***

Dorian scrolled through the game menu, lulled by the familiar background music. Exhaustion had scraped him raw and hollow, save for a jitteriness that seethed just behind his eyelids. The images that had plagued him earlier lurked just on the edges of his mind, but it wouldn’t take much prodding for them to come screeching back. Best not to think about it.

Also best not to think about how badly he’d debased himself in front of Bull. He could hear the man clattering around in the kitchen, the whine of the kettle, the clink of teacups, the scent of toast. Dorian's thoughts were distant, for the time being at least. He wondered, idly, if Bull would break up with him, in the same way he wondered if it might rain tomorrow.

Dorian had learned to hide his anxiety from Rilienus. Rilienus had seen it as weakness, an inconvenience, a biochemical defect, anything except what Dorian had later come to understand was a perfectly normal reaction to the trauma he’d experienced. He had certainly never offered any comfort the few times Dorian had broken down in his presence, instead getting annoyed and leaving Dorian to “pull himself together”.

Bull hadn’t done that, though. Bull was making him tea, and toast. Bull had followed him, and helped him. Dorian's mind was still hazy and dull, too tired to know whether that was good or bad.

“Tea’s ready,” Bull said, coming in and setting down two mugs and a plate of peanut butter sandwiches. “Might want to give it a second, it’s pretty hot.”

“Thank you,” Dorian murmured. “Do you mind?” He held up the controller in his hand.

Bull chuckled. “‘Course not. You mind if I watch?”

Dorian managed half a smile, more out of habit than anything. “Like to watch, do you?”

“You know it,” Bull grinned.

Dorian picked a level and started to play. The game required almost no thought whatsoever -- Dorian had been playing it for ten years. His fingers moved automatically, eyes trained on the screen.

A couple of minutes passed. Bull watched, sipping his tea and munching on the toast. Dorian felt the fog lifting from his brain, but that meant he was aware of the tension in the room now. It wasn’t as bad as he expected, but it was there.

Bull broke the silence. “What is this game, anyway?”

“Oh, it’s stupid,” Dorian apologized. “Katamari Damacy. Just mindless, really.” There were only forty seconds left to the level, so he didn’t bother pausing.

“But, what are you actually doing?”

“Ahh,” Dorian hedged. “You, ah, play a very tiny cartoon prince. And he pushes that ball you see on the screen. And he pushes it into things, and if the ball is big enough, the thing sticks to the ball, and it gets bigger.”

“Uh huh,” Bull nodded, like it was perfectly rational.

“I told you it was stupid,” Dorian said defensively. “It was the first game I ever played. After Rilienus left, I decided to see what I’d missed out on growing up. I got a used console at a garage sale, and this was stuck in the slot, so it’s all I could play. I mostly like the music, anyway.”

“The music,” Bull said, deadpan. “You like this music.” There was a chorus of young children singing in Japanese, raucous and barely in tune, with some light-rock violins and a generic drum track. “It sounds like Sesame Street on acid.”

“It does _not,”_ Dorian insisted. “They’re singing about finding contentment in the little things in life. It’s _very meaningful.”_

“Mm-hmm,” Bull said, slurping his tea loudly.

Dorian didn’t meet the goal before time ran out. “Oh wonderful. You distracted me and now look at where I am.” The screen flashed in a thunderstorm, the hapless prince getting rained on while his father, the King, excoriated him in the subtitles.

“Wait, this game has _daddy issues?”_ Bull lost it, clutching his stomach with laughter. “Fuck, Dorian, how did you find a game with daddy issues?”

Dorian rolled his eyes, not giving Bull the satisfaction of laughing along, even though it was, quite frankly, hilarious. He powered the console off, then threw a pillow at Bull. “Well I don’t tell _you_ how to relax, do I?”

Bull had flopped to the side, still wheezing with laughter. He pulled himself up and wiped his eye. “Fair enough.”

There was a pause, and the mood began to evaporate. Dorian started to babble. “God, I’m so sorry Bull. I’m so so sorry. You shouldn’t have to deal with this -- with me. It’s not fair, it’s not --”

Bull pulled him in for an embrace. “Hey, it’s alright,” Bull murmured into his hair, holding him with far more gentleness than he deserved. “It’s alright.”

“It’s not,” Dorian stated. At least he wasn’t crying.

“Okay, yeah. It’s fucked up. But I’m here, okay? I’m here.”

Dorian nodded against Bull’s chest. After a second he pulled back. “Sorry. Your tea will get cold.”

Bull reached for the cup. “You know what that would be, right?”

Dorian frowned, shaking his head.

“A calami-tea.” Bull said with a perfectly straight face.

“Really, Bull?” Dorian tutted, sitting back. He grabbed a sandwich and bit into it, suddenly ravenous.

“Hey, gotta take these opportunities when they come. Anyway. You wanna tell me what happened?”

“I just....” Dorian grasped for words. “It doesn’t bother me. Normally. Your past, I mean. You’ve done what you’ve done and I’ve done what I’ve done and none of that matters. I know that. I _know_ that, but I couldn’t help it. My mind wouldn’t let go.”

Bull continued to watch him. “Okay,” he said. It wasn’t absolution, only acknowledgement. “This gonna happen again? ‘Cause I’ve been with a lot of people.”

It would’ve been easy to say _no,_ but Dorian hesitated. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. I don’t have any problem with Hawke, or Isabela.”

“What about Cullen?”

Dorian blinked. “Officer Rutherford? Really?” He laughed in surprise. “How remarkable.”

“That answers my question, then. So what is it about Vivienne that bothers you?”

Dorian took his time chewing and swallowing his sandwich, stalling. “Maybe it’s because I loathe her so completely.”

“Yeah?” Bull took another sip of his tea. “I liked her just fine.”

“Ugh, she’s so _superior,”_ Dorian groaned.

Bull fixed him with a look. “You’re kidding, right?”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine, I can _sometimes_ be the _teensiest_ bit of a snob, but it doesn’t hold a candle to her. And she lords her position over me, as if she’s _better_ than me. She’s no better. She’s just luckier. Amazing where one can get in life when you’ve got connections and support and aren’t starting from being a homeless street busker in Nevarra.”

Bull shrugged. “Yeah. That's true. You think she’s just coasting, then?”

“No. No, she works hard, I’ll give her that,” Dorian sighed. “Very hard. And she didn’t have the early support that I did. She went to public school in the Free Marches.”

Bull didn’t say anything, just sipped his drink.

“It’s just... ugh, she acts as if I’m not doing everything I can. As if I’m... I don’t know... settling, or wasting my life, or... she makes me feel as if I’m not _enough._ As though being stuck in this shithole of a town is the best I can do, rather than a choice _I’ve_ made, for my own sake. And god, like I haven’t had a whole lifetime of being told I’m not enough. How could I possibly be enough for you, when you could have someone like her, and all I could think of was the two of you together and.... Dammit --” Tears pricked in his eyes. He looked up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly and breathing through his mouth. He was _not_ going to cry again.

“Hey, hey,” Bull said. “I’m right here.” He put his hand on Dorian's knee and squeezed.

Dorian nodded and took another deep breath. “Sorry.”

“Let me ask you something. If I had just mentioned it in passing that me and Viv knew each other, would it have freaked you out?”

“I’d still question your taste,” Dorian scoffed. “And also how well you knew her. I can’t imagine anyone calling her _Viv_ and living to tell the tale. I’m sure she has a collection of bleached skulls lined up in her basement of the hapless souls who attempted it.” Dorian was aware he hadn’t actually answered the question. “I... don’t know, to be honest. I’m sure it still would’ve bothered me on some level. Probably not like that, though. Usually I can keep a handle on things.”

“Usually?”

Dorian huffed. “Sometimes. Not always. I....” He hesitated. It was stupid to continue pretending he didn’t have an anxiety disorder. “I struggle with anxiety.”

Bull nodded thoughtfully. “Worse when you get stressed? Tired?”

Dorian hummed in agreement, unsure of where Bull was going with the questions.

Bull drained his tea. “Yeah, me too.”

“I’m sorry?” Dorian squinted in confusion.

“PTSD. Seheron’s parting gift. I can deal pretty good now, but I gotta be careful when I get tired. Just thought, with the concert, you might’ve been worn down.”

“Oh. I didn’t know.” Suddenly Dorian felt utterly selfish and petty.

Shrugging, Bull set down his empty mug. “Hey, listen.” Bull reached over to Dorian with one hand, palm up. He beckoned with his fingers until Dorian put his free hand into Bull’s grasp. “I’m going to tell you two things, okay? And I want you to listen to the whole thing, all right?”

Dorian nodded, trying to ignore the way his stomach clenched.

“First. I’ve been with a lot of people. Including Vivienne. I’ve done all sorts of things, and I know you’re not comfortable with some of it. But I can’t run from my past, and I shouldn’t have to. And I get that it can make you feel like, maybe since I’ve done a bunch of things, or been with a lot of people... it might feed into that fear of not being enough. And I think we should talk more about that, some other time.”

Nodding again, Dorian forced himself to breathe normally. “Okay.”

Bull continued. “Here’s the second thing: you’re not _enough.”_

Dorian flinched, unconsciously trying to pull away from Bull’s hands. Bull didn’t tighten his grip, but leaned forward to follow Dorian's movement. “Hey, I’m not finished. _Enough_ is what I had before I met you. _Enough_ is what a person needs to survive, to get by. Vivienne was _enough._ Hawke and Isabela were _enough._ And you are so, _so_ much more than that. To me. Trying to tell you, you’ve raised the bar. Made me want more. Made me....” Bull swallowed hard. “I love you, is what I mean.”

“What?” Dorian's mouth hung open as he blinked several times. His brain was still catching up, trying to categorize this new information. “I love you too,” he blurted.

“Yeah?” Bull’s lips curved up, slow.

“Well, this isn’t how I wanted to tell you,” Dorian admitted, brushing toast crumbs from his lap. “You deserve --”

Bull cut him off. “I don’t _deserve_ shit. You’re the one that's in love with a one-eyed ex-stripper. You worried about getting what _you_ quote-unquote deserve?”

Dorian allowed the point with a helpless laugh. “Alright, fine. I _wanted_ to give you something better, how’s that?”

“I like that,” Bull grinned. “That’s good. Anything else you want?” His eyebrow quirked.

There were a variety ways to answer, and Dorian leaned forward, trying to decide which option held the most appeal. A yawn took him unaware, and he struggled to stifle it.

Bull snorted. “Come on, you’ve had a long day.”

“No-ohh-huh,” He gave in and yawned in earnest. “Mmmm, alright. I’m exhausted. Will you stay?”

Bull kissed him, lingering and sincere. “Yeah. I’d like that.” He stood, holding out a hand to help Dorian up.

They put the mugs and plates in the kitchen, turning off lights as they went. Dorian went to lock the front door, when a thought occurred to him. “Shit, I forgot the roses!” He dashed outside, still in his stocking feet.

“Uh, could’ve gotten those for you,” Bull chided him when he ran back in.

“You _did_ get them for me, and they’re beautiful,” Dorian said. “I don’t want them wilting. You go on up, I’m going to put these in a vase.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. I’ll be right up.” Dorian brought the roses into the kitchen, fetching the big vase and filling it with water. They were already starting to wilt; hopefully by morning they would be fine. He began to fuss, trying to arrange them to their best effect. Flowers so beautiful deserved to be shown off. The thought stopped him short, and he laughed. The roses were exquisite, regardless of whether they were crooked or uneven. He left them askew, clicked off the kitchen light, and headed upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're coming up on the end of this story. At the present, there might be one or two chapters more, or I might end it here and do an epilogue. I haven't decided, but I've been poking at this chapter long enough, so have at it.


	19. Turnabout is Fair Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vivienne asks some strange questions, and Dorian and Bull have to discuss the consequences.

In the exhausted aftermath of his anxiety attack, Dorian failed to set the alarm on his phone. He slept deeply, wrapped around Bull, only to awake in a panic when a slice of sunlight hit his face around 9:30. “Shit! Shit, I’m late!” He launched himself out of bed, dashing for the shower. Precisely zero thought was given to the clothes he threw on. At the bottom of the stairs, Bull was holding out a to-go mug and a hot fried egg sandwich wrapped in a paper towel. 

“Oh god  _ thank _ you,” Dorian said, grabbing both on his way to the door. “You’ve got a late night tonight?” he asked, struggling to get his arm into his jacket sleeve.

“Gotta love Fridays,” Bull nodded. “How ‘bout I stop by when I’m done?”

“Yes please,” Dorian said sweetly. “Thanks again,” he said, holding up his mug. “And --” he forced himself to stop rushing for a second. “And, I love you.”

Bull’s grin made Dorian’s impending lateness worth it. “Love you too. I’ll lock up on my way out.”

Dorian made it to his Intro to Music Theory class just past ten. Not that any of his students would have especially minded if he’d fail to show, but he’d already canceled class once this semester for personal reasons. It was a point of pride that he avoid missing again.

Fifty minutes later, he headed to his office. His next obligation was a lesson at 1:00 -- plenty of time to catch up on some score study. The band concert was in two weeks, and he still struggled to hold the ensemble together during the tricky transitions in Blue Shades. 

He’d just settled in when there was a knock on his door, which opened without prompting. Vivienne poked her head in. “Is this a bad time, dear?”

Dorian’s mouth only hung open for a second before he plastered on an automatic smile and stood. “Of course not. What can I do for you?” He gestured at the chair beside his desk.

Vivienne looked all around his office, her face placid. “Thank you, dear. I came by to apologize for leaving so abruptly last night. Terribly rude of me, especially after such a wonderful performance. You do this college so much credit; I wanted to make sure you realized that.”

It occurred to Dorian immediately that Vivienne was buttering him up -- clearly she wanted something. She’d never come to his office after a performance before. He might not have followed his father into politics, but he certainly understood how things worked. And the only thing that was different about last night was Bull. 

The echo of last night’s attack tugged at him, but it didn’t take hold. For one thing, the memory of Bull making him breakfast, taking care of him,  _ loving  _ him, was too strong. And also Dorian was practically aflame with curiosity. Best to play along. He kept his face bland and friendly. “You were gracious as always, Madame. But if you like, I can pretend to be offended so you can continue to compliment me.” 

Vivienne tittered with too much force; not only did she want something, she was  _ nervous.  _ “Yes, quite,” she murmured. “It occurred to me last night that I’ve never heard you play the same piece twice. That kind of dedication deserves acknowledgement.”

“Thank you,” Dorian said, tilting his head. “Variety is the spice of life, or so they say.” He allowed himself to smirk.

Vivienne raised an eyebrow. “Of course. And it must have felt especially gratifying to perform with such an appreciative audience.”

Dorian fought the urge to laugh at the clumsy segue. “Bull  _ is _ a man of surprising tastes. He said you know each other.” It was a risky move, but Dorian couldn’t help but flaunt his knowledge at least a little. He left it vague, keep Vivienne guessing as to how much he actually knew.

“Yes, ages ago. I’d almost forgotten. One does meet so many people, you know.” She looked out the window as if slightly bored. “Speaking of which, how did the two of you meet?”

Is that all she wanted to know? Dorian laughed. “In a ridiculous way. My friends ordered a pizza, and he delivered it. And then the following week, I ordered another pizza, and he delivered that one as well. We had friends in common, and the next thing I knew he was giving me tulips and taking me to the Winter Palace.”

Vivienne blinked several times, turning back to him. The bored, haughty look was completely absent. “Really? He delivered you a pizza?” Her eyebrow shot up skeptically.

Dorian shrugged. “Funny how these things happen. You know he’s playing in the band? Excellent timpanist.”

It was Vivienne’s turn to have her mouth hang open. “Is he?”

“Truly an asset to the ensemble,” Dorian nodded. 

“Well, how… fascinating,” she said, some of her superiority creeping back in. “And I’ve taken enough of your time.” She rose gracefully.

Dorian followed suit. “Always a pleasure, Madame,” he said formally. 

With a tight smile, Vivienne nodded and left.

After she was gone and the door firmly closed, Dorian laughed quietly. “What the hell was  _ that _ about?” he whispered aloud. It was tempting to text Bull, both so he could find out what was going on, and also prove that he could handle not just seeing Vivienne, but talking to her  _ about Bull  _ without having a breakdown.

That could wait. Bull would be at the restaurant, getting ready for a busy night, and he wouldn’t be able to answer anyway. Best not to make a special effort -- that would make it seem petty, like Dorian had something to prove. Which, after losing control last night, he rather did. But there were more mature ways to go about it than running to Bull like a child waving around a macaroni portrait he’d made at school. He’d tell Bull in passing, later. For now, Dorian turned his attention to the score at hand. 

“Later” turned out to be just past eleven. Dorian was already in pajamas and slippers, sipping a glass of wine when Bull’s car pulled into his driveway. He grinned and stood, stretching for a moment before pulling the door open to admit Bull. “Hello,” he drawled.

Bull had a take out bag in one hand and his duffel in the other. “Hey there.” He came inside and bent to give Dorian a kiss. 

It was a very thorough kiss, and Dorian was a little breathless when Bull pulled away. He laughed and wrinkled his nose. “You smell like Buffalo wings.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Bull hefted the duffel bag. “Mind if I take a shower real quick?”

“Of course,” Dorian said, taking the food. “Do you want me to keep this warm for you?”

“Nah, I’ll be done in a minute.” Bull gave him another kiss, this one on the cheek, before heading upstairs.

Dorian unpacked the containers as the sound of running water came from the second floor. Bull brought home all manner of food, usually involving scraps of pizza toppings and other ingredients. Today it was flatbread, with roasted peppers, arugula, sauteed onions, and a little feta. Upstairs, the shower sounds ceased. Dorian fetched another wine glass and helped himself to a piece of flatbread.

“Hey, that’s my dinner you’re eating,” Bull said, coming into the kitchen. 

“It’s the toll for using the shower,” Dorian explained. “Wine?”

“Yeah, I’ll take a little.”

They chit-chatted for a few minutes while Bull ate, sitting side by side at Dorian’s kitchen counter. After a suitable interval, Dorian shifted the topic of conversation. “So you’ll never believe who stopped by my office,” Dorian smirked. 

Bull froze mid-chew. He swallowed, following it up with a gulp of wine. “Who’s that?” He asked the question without turning.

Dorian noted the discomfort.  _ He’s probably worried you’ll be upset again.  _ He smiled, almost giddy about his lack of anxiety. “Why the dragon lady herself, of course. Wanted to ‘congratulate’ me on my performance.”

Bull grunted, nodding thoughtfully. “Take it she doesn’t normally do that.”

“Pfft, are you joking? She probably had to consult a map to find my office,” Dorian said. He topped up their wine. “No, she came to ask about you,” he chuckled. “Though for the life of me I can’t imagine what she wanted to know.”

“She asked about me?” Bull frowned, squinting at the wine glass in his hand.

This wasn’t going at all how Dorian expected. He thought Bull would be relieved; instead he seemed more tense, if anything. “Well, she asked how we met,” he said slowly. A thought dawned on him, and he turned toward Bull bodily, grabbing his arm. “Oh god, how long has it been? Does she know you own the pizza place? Lord, does she think we met because of your dancing? No wonder she didn’t believe me when I said you delivered a pizza. She probably thinks that’s a cover story.”

Bull let his head fall with a silent laugh. “She doesn’t know I was a dancer. Or what I do now.”

“Oh,” Dorian said, relaxing. Something still seemed wrong, but he couldn’t place it. “Good. I don’t want you to think I was hiding anything. Although I suppose she could just ask you herself in a few weeks.”

“What?” Bull’s head shot up and he looked at Dorian, panic creeping into his eyes.

“She’ll be at the band concert,” Dorian pointed out. 

Bull stared at him, his gaze going unfocused. “Right, yeah.”

“Bull,” Dorian said carefully. “Is there something the matter?” Yesterday’s anxiety was attempting to re-assert itself, bashing at the doors Dorian had locked. 

There was a nerve in Bull’s jaw that twitched. Deliberately, Bull reached over and took Dorian’s hand. “I’m in a bad position, here. I want to tell you something, babe. It’s not bad. But it means breaking a confidence.”

Anxiety slammed through Dorian again, rattling the hinges, but he stayed calm. It helped that the conversation had taken such an unexpected turn; he couldn’t anticipate what was coming. “I grew up gay in Tevinter, Bull. I understand the importance of secrets.”

Bull nodded, taking a deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah, right, I kinda forgot. Okay. Yeah.” He kept nodding.

Dorian realized Bull was nervous. Somehow that gave him the wherewithal to speak. “Would you like to go in the living room?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be good.”

They settled on the couch, half-facing each other. Bull once again reached for Dorian’s hand and threaded their fingers. “So. You know, yesterday, when I said I wanted to talk more about the things I’ve done, and the stuff that freaks you out a little. Yeah. I can’t go into specifics, but that’s how I know Vivienne.”

Dorian’s heart stuttered.  _ “What?” _

Bull licked his lips. “Didn’t know her real name, and she didn’t know mine. That’s why she was asking you how we met. She was probably trying to figure out how much you know. Doesn’t sound like she believed you, so she might think you’re trying to hold it over her head, making up some bullshit story.”

There was so much to parse that Dorian’s emotions blurred together, canceling each other out. “Oh. That… explains a lot, actually.”

Bull was looking at him carefully. “You okay?”

Temporary emotional paralysis had its perks. He felt numb, but at least he didn’t feel bad. “I think I’ve short-circuited,” Dorian said. “All systems offline.”

Bull laughed quietly and brought his other hand up to the crook of Dorian’s neck, thumbing along his hairline, looking at his fingers rather than at Dorian’s face. “Confidentiality is a big part of that scene. People could get fired, lose custody of their kids, all sorts of shit.”

Dorian nodded. Of course, that made so much sense. “Well this puts me in an awkward spot. I can’t really reassure her that I’m trustworthy, can I?” 

“No,” Bull said. “If you want, I can talk to her.”

Something about that felt wrong to Dorian, jarring. The delicate tangle of emotions began to loosen. “I… what do you think?” He needed a second to get a handle on himself. 

Bull tilted his head back and forth. “All she really needs to know is that you were telling the truth about the pizza. Lotta ways to do that without me dredging up the past.”

The past. Bull’s past, Vivienne’s past, a private world that Dorian would never get to share.  _ Not good enough you’re not good enough.  _ Dorian’s anxiety scrabbled to get ahold of the idea, worrying at it like a dog with a squeaky toy. “I think… no. I --” He cleared his throat and reached for his wine. He didn’t drink it, just fiddled with the stem of his glass.

Bull watched him, waiting. 

“I….” Dorian tried again. “I’m not very comfortable with the idea of you discussing… whatever it is you did… with her. I know that’s not fair, but it scares me.” He took a sip of wine, as if to chase the admission.

“Okay,” Bull said at once. “We’ll figure something out. C’mere.” He pulled Dorian closer, so that Dorian was nestled against his chest. “Know that was tough to admit. This okay?”

“Yes,” Dorian whispered. 

“Something else bothering you?” Bull guessed, running his hands through Dorian’s hair.

Dorian sighed in defeat. He’d hoped, rather naively, that this subject would never come up again. “The… things you used to do. Not specifically with  _ her,”  _ he amended quickly. “I mean in general. Can you… that is… I suppose I simply don’t understand the appeal.”

Bull shrugged. “Lotta people don’t. Nothing wrong with that.”

Deep breath in, deep breath out.  _ You talked about this with Wynne, and with Felix. You can just say it.  _ “I’m afraid that you’ll tire of me if I can’t give that to you.”

“I know,” Bull said simply. “I know you’re scared. But I know me saying, ‘it’s fine, I don’t need it’ isn’t gonna convince you, even though it’s true.”

He was right. Dorian wasn’t about to stop suffering from anxiety on Bull’s say so. “Can you… tell me about it?”

“Depends. Will it help, or are you just picking at a scab?” There was no judgement in Bull’s voice.

Dorian wrinkled his nose at the imagery. “That’s revolting,” he objected.

“You know what I mean.”

Dorian sighed. He did, in fact. One of the men he’d attempted to date after Rilienus was a serial cheater. Despite Dorian’s offer to make the relationship open, Cailan had blithely lied and lied. He  swore up and down that he was only interested in Dorian, even when faced with incontrovertible evidence to the contrary. It got so Dorian became semi-obsessed with snooping, checking Cailan’s phone while the man slept, knowing he would find texts and pictures and in one case a rather skillfully shot video. It took going cold turkey, from both the snooping and the man himself, for Dorian to get any peace.

This felt different. Deep breath in, deep breath out.  _ Same as you told Wynne, a few weeks ago. _ “I think… the reason I get scared is because I don’t know why you enjoy it. And it’s hard for me to see how I can give you whatever it is you got from… that sort of thing.”

“Okay.” Bull paused. Dorian felt the man’s chest rise and fall. “First off, why don’t you tell me how much you think you know.”

Dorian made a face. “I know there are, ah, parties? At least there were in Tevinter. I’ve seen very short snippets of pornography. That’s basically it. You’ll be happy to know I didn’t read  _ 50 Shades.” _

Bull laughed. “Oh yeah, that piece of crap. Alright. Maybe I could tell you what I did, what I like, so it’s not some vague idea. Sound good?”

Dorian nodded, biting the inside of his lip, bracing himself.

“I like it when people tie me up. I like pain too. A moderate amount, I’d say, and I like certain kinds more than others. I like to be pushed, challenged. And I like to be praised while I take it. Sometimes I like it if I don’t get to come, too, if it’s just about servicing my top.”

Bull paused, and eventually Dorian realized he’d finished his list. “Oh. I -- I thought there was more humiliation involved,” Dorian admitted. “One sees those ads on porn sites. There always seems to be a lot of spitting and degradation.” 

“Some people like that, but it’s not for me. Kinda the opposite, in fact. It was a prerequisite for me -- I don’t mind a little goading, but never humiliation. And I like to know when I’m doing good.” 

Dorian hummed in acknowledgement. “And the -- pain,” he stammered. “It… feels good?”

Bull tilted his head back and forth. “Well it hurts,” he said. “But you can kind of… ramp up to get there, and that’s what I like. It’s kind of like scratching an itch. After a while you’re not really helping the itch, you’re scratching because it feels good.”

Put like that, Dorian realized it wasn’t nearly as foreign a concept as he’d thought. It was getting easier to picture, at least. He sifted through his own experiences, looking for analogues. The desire to serve, or be served, was easy enough. The praise he had less experience with, though Bull had certainly shown him how fantastic that felt. Even the pain was beginning to come into focus, thinking back to the men he’d been with who were rough: pulling his hair, or fucking him without a lot of prep. He’d certainly enjoyed that, or at least some of it. Perhaps it was like that, only more focused, or...

Bull spoke up. “How are you doing?”

The question pulled Dorian out of his contemplation. “I’m… I’m fine,” he said. He felt his cheeks flushing; maybe he’d gotten a little too far down memory lane.

“Okay,” Bull said. He started running his fingers through Dorian’s hair. It was very soothing. “You want me to tell you the rest?”

“Is there more?”

He felt Bull shrug. “Well that was the how and what. Figured you’d want to know the why.”

“Alright.”

Bull took another long breath. “For me, anyway, it makes me feel safe.”

That was too much, beyond comprehension. Dorian pushed himself up so he could look at Bull. “Safe? It makes you feel  _ safe _ to have people tie you up and hit you?” As soon as he spoke, he heard how judgemental he sounded.

Bull’s expression didn’t shift, but that nerve in his jaw was working hard. “Yeah,” he said, his tone flat.

“I’m sorry,” Dorian said, chastened. “I just... don’t understand. But I want to. I’m sorry.” He held out his hand.

Bull nodded and took it. “I know. I know you do, babe.” He gathered his thoughts. “I’d done bondage a few times when I was young and liked it -- it was fun, a game, just getting to lay back and have the other person go to town. After Seheron, I was in a pretty bad spot. Kept having panic attacks and flashbacks. They did what they could for me after I got discharged, but it took a long time to figure out what was gonna work and what wasn’t. I was worried, all the time. Those early days, I didn’t have such great control. Ended up taking swings at a couple people, lashing out. Never knew when it was gonna happen. Sex was out of the picture. You see where I’m going with this?” 

“If you were restrained, you could let go and enjoy yourself,” Dorian guessed.

“Yeah. So for me, it was a kind of freedom.”

Dorian sat back, letting it sink in. “Oh.” Of course, god, it was obvious now. “I guess I… I’ve never trusted anyone enough to even consider it. I imagine that goes double for the -- other parts.”

“Well yeah. I’ve got a good nose for people though. Plus, you know. Gotta do a lot of talking first.”

“Ugh, you mean your blasted Deposition of Consent?” Dorian huffed, flopping over to settle into the crook of Bull’s arm.

Bull laughed, pulled him in close. “Hey, I gave you the short version.”

“Good lord, really?”

“Trust me, I did.”

There was a lull. Dorian went back through all the things he thought he knew. So far, all of them had been wrong. “What about the, you know. Pain.” 

“That’s not so much about feeling safe as it is… it’s hard to describe. Part of it is the challenge -- how much can you take, you know? And part of it is you can get kind of high. Your body gets flooded with endorphins, and all of the physical sensations get tied together, so everything’s more intense. And --” Bull stopped short suddenly, and he blew air out his lips. “There’s a kind of intimacy, sometimes. Maybe because it’s so intense. Something I didn’t use to get from just sex.”

Dorian let it sink in. Knowing it was intimate would’ve been hard to hear at one point, but now.... “Wait, ‘didn’t use to get’?” He pushed himself up again, peering at Bull.

“That’s right.”

Before he could realize how needy it sounded, Dorian blurted his next question. “As in, you’re getting it now?” 

Bull’s smile was slow and gentle. He reached up and drew his thumb along Dorian’s jawline. “Well I wouldn’t say I’m ‘getting it’ right now, but yeah. Yeah.”

Dorian felt warm all over. He snorted, scrambling to sit astride Bull’s lap, his hands on Bull’s shoulders. “You are incorrigible.”

“Yep,” Bull said, smacking his lips in satisfaction.

The joke settled around them. “Thank you,” Dorian said sincerely. “I’m not going to pretend I understood all of it, but… it helps.” It helped a lot, actually. Dorian was quite sure he’d still get the odd pang of uncertainty about the whole thing, but it wasn’t an unknown any longer. It was just part of Bull, like the puns or the taste for spiced honey. 

“Did it?” Bull’s hands drifted down to Dorian’s hips.

“It did.” He leaned forward and kissed Bull. 

It was meant to be a thank-you, one of those shorthand kisses, a code for familiarity and affection. Maybe Dorian lingered a fraction too long, maybe it was the way they were situated, or maybe it was simply because they hadn’t had sex in three days, but the kiss started gentle and shifted to something entirely different. Bull’s hands clutched his ass, and suddenly it was breathless and hot. Dorian pressed against Bull’s chest, rocking with a faint whimper, catching Bull’s bottom lip in his teeth.

Bull groaned, hips shifting under Dorian’s thighs. “You wanna go upstairs?”

“Fuck yes,” Dorian laughed.

They didn’t run, falling over each other in their haste. Nor did they stop every three steps to clutch at each other. Dorian put the dirty glasses in the sink; Bull went around and shut off the downstairs lights. Then they each brushed their teeth, taking their time. 

It wasn’t frantic, when Bull stood next to the bed, kissing Dorian deep and slow. They took off their clothes unselfconsciously, each running their hands over the other with easy strokes. 

“Will you fuck me, Bull?” 

“Hell yes.”

Dorian climbed on to the bed while Bull retrieved the lube and condoms from the side table. Dorian propped his head up with pillows and got comfy while Bull rolled to his stomach, laying between Dorian’s knees. He was no longer fully hard; Dorian didn’t panic, though, didn’t worry that Bull was bored. He knew by now that the man got off on sucking cock, and by the time he’d fingered Dorian open and teased him with his tongue, he’d be more than ready.

So Dorian laid back and enjoyed it, one hand behind his head, watching Bull nuzzle at the juncture of his thighs. And god, it was good -- it was always good. The sounds of hunger and happiness that Bull made when he sucked Dorian’s cock, the little circles he pressed into Dorian’s entrance, the way he teased his prostate, the way he looked up and then couldn’t look away, watching Dorian watch him.

Suddenly it wasn’t so casual anymore. Suddenly it felt… more. Intense. Not that it hadn’t been intense before -- hell, it was intense more often than not -- but each time felt like something new. “God, please, Bull, I’m ready, I’m ready,” Dorian moaned, pulling at his shoulders.

“Yeah,” Bull breathed. He fumbled with the condom packet, sliding the latex over his cock. A second later he was leaning over Dorian, lining himself up. “Yeah?”

Dorian nodded. And the Bull pushed into him, gently, gently, his eye tight with lust and concern and….

“Fuck, I love you,” Bull gasped, collapsing down, kissing Dorian like he’d never get enough.

“I love you,” Dorian finally managed, just as Bull bottomed out. He whined, gasping. “God, do I love you.”

Bull pushed himself back up so he could look at Dorian. He didn’t say anything, just rolled his hips, rocking into him. 

Dorian didn’t look away. He began to stroke his own cock, timing it to fit with Bull’s rhythm, moaning shamelessly when Bull increased his pace. 

He didn’t look away -- couldn’t look away -- not even when Bull began to slam into him, hard, grunting through teeth gritted tight. He was close, so close, nodding frantically, whining now, watching Bull fuck him. Watching Bull make love to him.

Dorian shouted when he came, arching back, breaking the eye contact. Bull had a half-dozen more thrusts until he pounded out his own release, sinking down to his elbows a moment later. 

Bull hummed in contentment. “That was a good idea,” he said. 

“Mmm, I thought it was your idea,” Dorian murmured.

“Huh, funny how that works.”

Dorian gave a half-hearted laugh. He attempted to smack Bull on the shoulder, but ended up running his hand up and down Bull’s skin. 

Bull spoke again, pushing himself up to one elbow. “You okay?”

“I think I am,” Dorian said, trying it on for size. “It helps to have some perspective.”

“Yeah. Wanted to tell you about this stuff, just couldn’t think of a good way to bring it up.” Bull rolled to his side of the bed. 

“Well if you’re expecting me to send Vivienne a thank you card, you’re sorely mistaken,” Dorian said. 

“Yeah, maybe not so much on that,” Bull laughed. Dorian stretched and sat up, intending to go clean up, but Bull tugged his arm. He allowed himself to be pulled down, matching Bull’s smile. 

“You know I’m not going anywhere, right?” Bull asked. 

“I certainly hope not,” Dorian said. “Where would I get my pizza from then?”

Bull bit his lip, wincing.

Dorian knew that look. He sighed and stood, hands on his hips. “Go on. Get it out of your system.”

“What, that you must really like my  _ top- _ pings?” Bull asked innocently. 

Rolling his eyes, Dorian grabbed his robe and began to make his way to the bathroom. 

Bull didn’t relent. “I thought that was too cheesy. Don’t want to be a weir _ dough.  _ I mean, you’ve got a pizza my heart. Any way you slice it -- hey, where you going? At yeast let me finish!” 

“I’m going to clean up,” Dorian said, pulling on his most grave, snobbish expression. “I’m hoping a little  _ piece  _ and quiet will  _ deliver  _ me from your overbaked puns.” It pained Dorian to demean himself with such lowbrow humor, but seeing Bull’s mouth hang open with shock and adoration was more than worth it. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it ends, as it began: with TERRIBLE puns. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone for reading! I enjoyed writing this, and I will almost definitely write related bits, (possibly the band concert? I haven't decided) but the main part of the story is done. A million thanks to everyone who read and kudos-ed and commented.


	20. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The concert and what happened after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyyy remember when I wrote this fic ten thousand years ago? And I said maybe I'd write an epilogue? And then I wrote basically all of it but the last like three paragraphs but then had a bunch of health problems and FORGOT I WROTE IT? 
> 
>  
> 
> Whoops. Anyway. If anyone even remembers that this fic exists, here's some more of it?  
> ***

Bull re-arranged the mallets a third time, lining up the sticks parallel on the towel-wrapped stand behind the percussion instruments. What time was it? He checked his watch. Half an hour till call, and two hours till the concert. Were the timpani still in tune? Sometimes the pedal on the largest one slipped a little. Better make sure.

He heard someone moving around backstage. “Bull?” Dorian stepped out into the light. “Why are you here so early?”

Dorian was already in his tux, though he wasn’t wearing the jacket. Bull stared at him for a second, dazzled. Damn, he was beautiful. “What? Oh. Just, y’know. Getting everything set up.” He fiddled with the mallets again.

Dorian tilted his head to the side. “Are you… _good god,_ you’re nervous.”

Bull didn’t look up. “No, I’m just….” Was there any point in lying? “Yeah. Okay. I am.”

Laughing, Dorian came over and took his hands. “Bull. You’re going to be fantastic. You know how I know?”

Bull shook his head.

“Because you’re fantastic,” Dorian said, like it was a fact, something you could look up in a book. As opposed to something (someone) who could get lost in that transition in the Marquez, who could throw the whole fucking band off, and yeah, Cole would recover, but what about the rest of them? What if --

“Bull.” Dorian’s voice cut into the blur of worry. “Amatus. You are wonderful, and talented, and if you adjust those mallets one more time, I might slap your wrists.” He gave a playful tap to Bull’s hand.

Bull forced himself to take a deep breath. “Right. Right.” He shook his head side to side like a wet dog, then inhaled again. “Got it, kadan.”

Dorian smiled. “Good.” He patted Bull’s cheek. “I must go get these children in tune. By ‘children’ I of course mean ‘Hawke and everyone else’.” He sauntered off.

Of course Dorian was completely calm. He did this all the time. But it was different for Bull. Yeah, he was used to performing, but this was _different;_ he was in a _tux_ for god’s sake, a real one, not the kind that you were supposed to take off. There was nothing to hide behind. If Bull messed up, he’d let everyone down. He’d let _Dorian_ down. Fuck, what if-

“You should warm up with us.” Cole said. When had he showed up? “It will help.”

“Okay, kid.” Bull followed Cole into the practice room, too nervous to come up with an excuse.

Of course, as a percussionist there was nothing he could do but watch as the band played scales and tuned. Still, seeing Dorian’s confidence was in itself calming.

It wasn’t just the concert that was making him nervous. But it was definitely the biggest worry, eclipsing everything else, even the envelope in Bull’s jacket pocket.

No time to think of that now, though. People were moving, shuffling in a muddle to the stage door. It was time for the concert.

***

Dorian wasn’t _nervous,_ per se. There was always a fair amount of tension before a concert, true, but he’d been doing this twice a year for quite some time, so the shine had worn off.

Of course, this time was a little different, wasn’t it? Bull was there, and seeing the huge man affected by nerves made Dorian nervous in turn. Not because he was worried about the performance, but because… well. Things still felt new, and different. He wanted Bull to be happy. With him. And by extension, with everything else, including the band.

When Dorian walked on stage, there was more applause than he was expecting. Not to mention the fact that someone was _whistling_ between their fingers. As Dorian bowed, his eyes scanned the audience. Two rows back from the stage, Krem sat, with Maryden and a few of Bull’s crew. Behind them was Isabela, which wasn’t a surprise; she always came out to Hawke’s concerts. But Dagna and Sera were there too, plus Varric and Anders. And Fenris, which was surprising, since it was a Friday night.

Well. Of course Bull was bringing in a larger audience than normal. _Must remember to thank him later._ Dorian didn’t allow himself to think of a proper method to show his appreciation. Once he stepped on to the podium and picked up his baton, everything else fell away.

It was not a flawless performance; they never were. Given the collective talent of the players, perfection was never a reality. The goal was to make it through all the pieces intact. And if there were moments where they came together and made something beautiful, that was all Dorian ever wanted. Well, that and he hoped they would play in tune, but one couldn’t have everything.

Still. The Whitacre was solid, and the Grainger… well it was over, at least. Finally it was time for the Marquez. Dorian took a moment to center himself as he opened the score. There wasn’t time for more than a few fleeting thoughts, trying to find the balance between muscle memory and active intent. He looked up at the band with a relaxed, gentle smile, and raised his baton.

He gave a measure for tempo, then cued Cole. He sounded fantastic; no surprise there. Dorian relaxed further, sinking into it. A couple of flubbed notes in the lower brass, and Hawke almost came in a measure too soon, but caught himself. Good. Dorian brought them through the first major transition. As usual, it was a challenge; he felt like he was dragging them through mud until Bull came in on the congas. Suddenly everything snapped into place, and Dorian smiled. The musicians began to sway in their seats, enjoying themselves. Well, who could blame them?

It didn’t take long until Dorian was smiling for real. Did it sound perfect? No. Not even close. But it sounded good, and his little band was having fun. The last few minutes of the piece were purposely discordant, screeching woodwinds against the low brass, until from nowhere it resolved into the main theme, faster than before, more jubilant, boisterous. The musicians were rushing, getting sloppy, missing notes in the runs, but Dorian didn’t try to rein them in, any more than he’d try to lasso a train. So he swayed with them, keeping the tempo in check, knowing Bull wouldn’t let things get too fast. Then, as one, they dropped to _subito piano_ , and built the last phrase, repeating it a little louder each time. A cliche, surely, but in this case it worked.

Dorian let his baton slice through the air for the last beat. The applause began before he’d even turned around, raucous and undercut with hooting. Krem and the others were already on their feet. Dorian signaled for the soloists to take a bow, including Bull in their number, before getting the whole band to rise.

It wasn’t the longest applause he’d ever gotten, but it was sincere, and the musicians’ faces were triumphant and proud. Dorian bowed twice and left the stage, allowing the musicians to soak up the last ten seconds or so of accolades.

As always, the aftermath was chaotic. Audience members wandered backstage, the stagehands began breaking down, and musicians milled about in a semi-daze, putting instruments away and shaking off the performance. Dorian shook hands and congratulated parents and chatted.

It was a little different, though, to be on the receiving end of an attempted tackle by Sera. And not far behind her were the others, both his friends and Bull’s, though the distinction hardly seemed relevant anymore.

“Sounded good, Pavus,” Krem said, shaking his hand.

“Thank you. Who’s minding the shop?” Dorian asked, trying to get a head count on Bull’s employees.

“Rocky,” Krem said. “He’s half-deaf anyway. And Skinner doesn’t like to be cooped up in an audience.”

Dorian nodded. “Well I’m glad you could make it. Bull didn’t tell me you were coming.”

“We didn’t tell him, did we?” Dalish said. “Where is he, anyway?”

“Oh, er.” Dorian cast about. He heard Bull’s laugh before he caught sight of him through the curtain wings, packing up percussion equipment on stage. Or rather, he probably had been at one point. Right now, however, he was talking to Vivienne.

Dorian had known full well that there was a possibility that might happen. He couldn’t hope to prevent it, nor did he want to try. He’d steeled himself for it, in fact. So much so that he stared at them blankly for a second, waiting for the anxiety to kick in.

It didn’t. For one thing, there was nothing in Bull’s body language that even hinted that he was having anything more than a polite chat. Vivienne seemed stiff, even more so than normal, like she had in Dorian’s office. And secondly, Bull glanced over at Dorian and smiled, warm and broad and loving, and how could Dorian feel anything but rock solid with a look like that?

“He’s talking to the Dean,” Dorian said, smiling back at Bull. He toyed with the keys in his pocket, unconsciously noting their weight.

“Ugh, stuffed shirts,” Krem groaned, already backing away. “I’ll catch up with him after. You’re coming out later, right? To the Maiden?”

“Of course,” Dorian nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it.” Then he took a deep breath, and went to join Bull and Vivienne. He could do this. It was going to be fine.

***

It was a good night, Bull thought. Scratch that -- it was a fucking great night. The concert had been incredible. And now, three beers in, he sat at a corner table in the Singing Maiden with a lapful of Dorian and a bunch of friends all around.

Dorian was talking animatedly to Krem, something about Minrathous. Good that they were getting along. Good, too, that Dorian had held his own earlier, coming up and chatting with Vivienne like it was the most natural thing in the world. Bull couldn’t even tell he was nervous, not until he caught the small, proud smile Dorian allowed himself once Vivienne had turned and left. Bull was proud of him too, and told him so. They’d talked about it a bunch since Dorian’s last breakdown, but that didn’t mean it was easy for him to face her.

Soon enough, though, Krem had wandered off in search of another drink, and it was just the two of them. “Hey,” Bull said. “You got a minute?”

“Just one? That’s fast, even for you,” Dorian winked.

Bull laughed. “Let’s get some fresh air, why don’t we?”

They went to the patio, which was largely deserted aside from a few smokers huddled around the communal ashtray. Bull led Dorian to the far corner. It wasn’t exactly secluded, but at least they could talk.

“Got something for you,” Bull said. “Not sure if you want it, though.”

“Oh? Funny, because I have something for you,” Dorian said. “I… well. You first.”

Bull reached into his pocket and handed over the folded envelope. Dorian looked confused, but opened it. He scanned the sheet. “This… is a membership letter for the musician’s union,” he said. “I don’t understand.”

“Well you said you’d tried to join a bunch of times, so I made a few calls. I, uh, know people too. And your dad might be rich, but I’m local, and I got a lot more friends than he does.” Bull shrugged. “I was gonna try and track down your old cello, but that’s a little beyond my abilities, so… at least you can play in a proper orchestra and all that.”

Dorian was blinking at the piece of paper, which started to shake as he held it. His eyes were shining, and he blinked rapidly. “Bull, this is….” He made a breathless sound, halfway between a laugh and a sob. “Thank you,” he said finally, looking up. He folded the letter carefully and stowed it in his jacket. “God, my present is so paltry in comparison,” he said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a keyring with two keys on it.

Bull recognized one; it was the key to the padlock for his storage trunk, the one he’d put the manacles in, that first morning at his place. The other was unfamiliar. He looked at Dorian, one eyebrow raised.

“I just thought you might want access to your own possessions,” Dorian said. “It doesn’t bother me, and you’ve been more than patient. Plus I imagine you want whatever else is in that trunk.”

“Thanks, babe,” Bull nodded. “What’s this one, though?” He held up the other key.

“Oh,” Dorian said dismissively. “That’s to my place. You know, just to have.”

Bull let the keys fall to his palm, bouncing them a few times. He knew, intellectually, that they didn’t weigh much, but they sure felt heavy. He stared at them a long moment.

“Is that alright?” Dorian asked.

“Yeah, it’s just… no one’s ever given me the key to their place,” Bull said absently.

“You don’t have to take it,” Dorian said slowly. “I just thought… you come by late, sometimes, and this way I wouldn’t have to wait up. If you don’t want it, that’s --”

He was starting to babble, so Bull cut him off. “Babe,” Bull said, running a thumb along Dorian’s jaw, “I want it. Thank you. Means a lot.”

Dorian relaxed fractionally. “I mean, it’s not like I’m asking you to move in.” He laughed nervously.

Bull’s gut twisted unexpectedly. He hadn’t been thinking about them moving in together, so it made no sense that he should feel a little disappointed now. Okay, a lot disappointed and maybe a little afraid. If he was being honest with himself, the whole not-thinking-about-it thing might’ve been more out of fear than habit; maybe he kinda knew that once he started thinking about it, he’d want it, and that was more than a little terrifying. “Right, right,” he nodded, once again staring at the keys.

It took him a minute to realize Dorian had stopped talking and was watching him, eyebrows raised. Bull shifted his weight, putting the keys in his pocket. “So. What do you think, you want another drink?”

Dorian tilted his head. “Are you alright?”

Maybe on another night, Bull would’ve pretended everything was fine. And maybe on another night he would’ve gotten away with it. But the stress of the concert had put him through the ringer. He winced. “Dunno. Maybe... maybe we can talk about that some time?”

“Moving in?” Dorian’s voice trembled. “As in, something you might want to do someday?”

Bull nodded.

Dorian sighed, blowing the air out his lips as he looked away. “I mean... if you’re _trying_ to make me the happiest man in town, I _suppose_ we could talk about it, yes.” He heaved another sigh, this one even more melodramatic, shooting a sly glance at Bull.

Grinning slowly, Bull reached out and tugged one of Dorian’s belt loops, pulling him close. There was nothing to say at that moment that a kiss wouldn’t cover just as well. It went on long enough that one of the smokers yelled at them to get a room.

With a snort, Dorian shifted so that they were merely hugging. Bull could feel Dorian’s hand moving behind his back. “Are you flipping them off?” Bull murmured.

“Hell yes,” Dorian said, pulling away just enough to look Bull in the face. “Are you sure you want to talk about this?”

“Yeah. I’m sure,” Bull said. “Really sure.”

“Well then,” Dorian nodded. “Let’s get out of here, shall we?”

“You got it.” Bull put his arm around Dorian’s shoulder as they headed back in to pay their tabs. “Anything to eat at home? Kinda hungry.”

“Let’s order Domino’s,” Dorian suggested.

Bull stopped in his tracks and stared at him.

“Now that I’m in the union, I’ll have more disposable income. We can finally afford the good stuff,” Dorian said, his face a picture of innocence.

Bull crossed his arms.

Dorian didn’t back down from the standoff, though his lips quivered as he tried not to smile. Seconds ticked by. Somewhere in the universe stars were born and subsequently exploded as Dorian refused to acknowledge he was kidding. Finally he relented, throwing up his arms. “Fine. There’s leftovers from Lavellan’s in the fridge.”

Then, and only then, did Bull uncross his arms and continue walking. “Domino’s,” Bull scoffed. “Can’t believe you even went there.”

“Oh, you love me,” Dorian teased.

“Yeah I do.” Bull held the door open, and followed Dorian back inside.   



End file.
